Amnesia
by angelmira1982
Summary: Exactly what the title says with a bit of a twist on series finale.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 01**

John would probably say something witty and inappropriate for the situation at hand. Maybe: _"Third time's a charm, Harold"_ in his softly spoken drawl _._ Harold was only hopeful that the third time he was sitting in a plastic chair near John's hospital bed wouldn't have catastrophic results. This time they had both ended up in a hospital.

John was unconscious for three days with a severe concussion and one broken rib.

Harold underwent a complicated surgery with his left hand - his middle finger was broken, his ring and little finger shattered and most of the nerves in the hand irreparably damaged. Doctors predicted he would never regain use in his last two fingers no matter the amount of physical therapy. The only unharmed person in their small group of survivors remained Ms. Shaw.

Sameen steadily watched over them all. She moved from room to room including the one Detective Fusco had been occupying after his surgery. Harold wasn't privy to the details yet, but Sameen hinted Lionel was hurt during their final battle with Samaritan and his operatives. Sameen made frequent visits going from one room to the other. After Harold was on his feet he spent most of his time in John's room.

When John had first woken up the room was empty. Ms. Shaw was with Detective Fusco, who needed help standing up from a hospital bed. Harold had been wheeled to radiology for a set of x-rays.

They heard about what had happened earlier when they had all gathered around John's bed. He was asleep and in restraints. John must have been in terrible pain and obviously confused, because in his state he had attacked a nurse. She called for assistance from a doctor and then with the help of two orderlies John was administered painkillers and a mild dose of sedatives. Harold wasn't happy with that.

"We should take turns," Lionel decided once they stood over John's bed.

"No need, Detective. I won't leave his side." Harold watched Ms. Shaw as she pulled a plastic chair to John's bed. "Thank you, Sameen."

Harold sat down with a wince. He still needed to get rid of John's restraints, but in his current state he was unable to accomplish the procedure himself. "Would you free him, please?"

"You think it's a good idea?" Detective Fusco questioned him nervously.

"I'm sure you wouldn't be happy yourself if the first thing you noticed was that you were unable to defend yourself, Detective," Harold reasoned with him calmly.

* * *

After four hours of sitting idly by John's side his vitals started to pick up and a nurse rushed into the room. "He's waking up. You shouldn't have freed him." She checked John's vitals and started to take his hand.

Harold ignored her tone and waited for John to open his eyes. "He's a former soldier. He completed several combat tours. The restraints are the last thing he needs."

The nurse looked at him nervously and then yelled in fright when her wrist was captured in John's tight grip.

"John?" Harold stood up with a pained expression. "John, would you be so kind and release the nurse who is currently trying to assess your vitals? You're in a hospital. You're safe. There is no need for violence."

A heartbeat later John's eyes fluttered open, scanning his surroundings. His eyes landed on the poor woman, then he released her.

Harold didn't falter at all. "Please, would you inform the others to not touch your patient without his previous consent?"

"I will spread the word," she assured him and then went away.

"Are you alright, John?" Harold asked holding his breath. He just knew the answer to his question was not going to be what he wanted to hear when their eyes met. John Reese had looked at him with distrust the first time they met when they didn't know each other at all. Harold remembered that weary, almost hostile expression. Once upon a time Harold felt a small victory when John's distrust graduated to amusement and subtle inquiries.

"Who are you?" John asked flatly.

Harold was prepared for that alternative. John's doctor informed them they could expect almost anything, but it still hit Harold hard that the worst had happened. He sunk down heavily onto a chair and winced with pain again. His hip protested the movement.

Harold carefully placed his injured hand on his thigh. The mentioned limb throbbed in pain as if it too wanted to remind him life was just plain painful sometime. Harold wanted to succumb to his misery. They went after an all-knowing God the government released on the world and subsequently let it actively hunt them. They lost several people to the conflict and he just refused to fight anymore. Yet as for this? Would it be anyone else, Harold would probably accept the situation and let the person go start a new life, but not with John. He refused to surrender this battle, to give up on John.

Harold's back straightened and he steadily held John's eyes. "My name-" he paused for a moment. What was he supposed to say? They were in a hospital under their aliases. If Harold hoped some sliver of information would help John regain his memories, their fabricated names wouldn't help John at all.

Harold watched the unreadable feature of John's face as it changed into a scowl. Why would John scowl at him in the few moments Harold had paused to think? That look was there only when John disagreed with him. Maybe it wasn't only disagreement. John was using that expression now as a gesture of impatience. Harold didn't answer fast enough for John's liking.

Even at the beginning of their relationship John would never press his questions. But now, John was waiting him out, probably calculating every expression on Harold's face. He waited for Harold's hesitancy and then he would try to guess his weakness. Even without memories John remained the same person.

"Sorry," Harold amended quickly, covering any amusement on his part. No matter the circumstances Harold could always rely on John's CIA training. He cleared his throat. "My name is Harold Swan. We are coworkers."

Harold stated the name he rarely used. If John needed some prompt for his memory, that wouldn't help him. Harold Swan was only an imaginary person. Just as much as John Rooney.

John tilted his head, but didn't say a word.

This situation discomfited Harold even more. God, he didn't want to go back to their beginnings. "May I ask you what is it the last thing you remember, John?" Harold made a conscious effort to not show his nervousness.

"Nothing." John answered flatly.

Harold blinked a few times. "At all? Name? Occupation? Hobbies? Friends?" John appeared to be searching his memory for anything. Harold could see the effort it took for him to try. It must have hurt too. John didn't want to show weakness, but his features were too hardened and too blank. John's head must have been pounding in great pain. Harold believed that John couldn't remember.

John shook his head not understanding his predicament. He fixed his eyes to Harold's and then asked the most important question. "What happened to me?"

Harold was floored. This level of trust surprised him. Maybe on some subconscious level John still saw him as a friend. In their circumstances it would make more sense for John to wait on a doctor then asked a complete stranger.

Harold hesitated. He didn't know what to reveal to John in his current condition, but at the same time Harold knew he needed to establish some level of familiarity to let John know he wasn't lying. "Unfortunately we were trapped under a collapsed building."

It wasn't Harold's place to inform him how they ended up under said building, but he couldn't stay quiet either, so he explained some more, "You sustained some superficial injuries, but the real problem was a blow to your head from a piece of concrete."

Harold could remember to the smallest detail when the building around them collapsed.

 _John's body resting on him, shielding him. Harold's hand went to John's head, because it occurred to him if John was covering him, nothing was covering John and_ _the_ _brain was the most important organ. After the debris_ _finished falling_ _the world_ _went_ _dark and quiet. They both were still alive. Harold could feel John's breathing. For just a moment he entertained_ _the_ _thought that maybe they both_ _would_ _survive it. Ms. Shaw certainly knew where they were. Harold was sure she would move heaven and earth to find them._

 _"Are you alright, Harold?" John whispered softly._

 _"Yes. You?"_

 _"It's a bit too crowded for my taste, but if I have to stay_ _this_ _close_ _to_ _someone, I can live with the knowledge it's you."_

 _Harold smiled, because he could hear the amusement in John's voice. He prepared himself for hours and hours of easy conversation. John would make sure they both_ _got_ _out with their sanity intact. No matter how soft and fascinating Harold_ _found_ _out John's hairs were. Only the silence_ _surrounding them_ _was ominous and_ _short-lived._ _It was quickly replaced by the sudden shifting of concrete above them and a thunderous rumble._ _The next second Harold's hand was_ _screaming_ _with_ _a_ _pain so intense he_ _blacked_ _out._

John cleared his throat.

Harold blinked in confusion. "Forgive me." Where was he? His own heart rate had spiked upwards. It was such an intense memory that it started a new level of sympathetic pain in his fingers. Harold should most definitely focus on explaining John's condition.

"You were unconscious for three days. Your doctor's diagnosis is a severe concussion. I am not a doctor, but my guess would be amnesia as well." The split second decision of putting his hand on John's head had saved John's life. If the force of the falling concrete hadn't been deflected by going through Harold's bones first, John's head would have been crushed in.

Precisely in that second the doors opened and John's doctor walked into the room. "Mr. Rooney, I heard you are finally back with us. How do you feel?"

Harold heaved himself up with his good arm and slowly shuffled from the room. It wasn't polite to stay when John would have his chat with a doctor. Harold was practically a stranger for him. He didn't want to impose. John needed to know he had his privacy. Harold would always respect his personal space.

Harold settled down on a bench in the hospital corridor and waited for the doctor to finish speaking with John. He didn't have to wait long. Once the man noticed him, he automatically went and sat beside Harold. They both watched a nurse making his way toward John's room.

"I understand you are a friend of Doctor Tillman." The doctor said softly after a minute.

"Yes. John as well." Harold replied stiffly.

"I wouldn't usually do this, but Megan told me he doesn't have a family. You three are all the people he has left."

"Yes. And unfortunately none of us are stated in his medical records as his next of kin." But that was precisely why the doctor was speaking to Harold. He shouldn't discuss John's physical condition with anyone else. "I don't need to be a medical professional to know he has a retrograde amnesia," Harold added before allowing the doctor to continue.

"Wrong," the doctor corrected him kindly with a small smile. "Retrograde amnesia is usually triggered by a trauma situation. The patient is able to recollect his memories before the said trauma occurred. He doesn't remember anything before that building."

Harold's eyes stayed at the door of John's room. They had been victorious over Samaritan. They had done enough. They deserved to have at least a bit of peace.

The doctor continued without any pause. "On a good note, he was able to hold onto his common knowledge about the world in general. That's a good thing. It means his memory is still partly functional. I would be more concerned if he couldn't, for example, dress himself. He can't tell you who's president right now or what year it is, but he knows the basic things like: if you put food in front of him he knows it requires using cutlery."

Harold's stomach tightened in anxiety. "Will he recover?"

"I don't know yet. His brain was swollen for three days from his injury. There is a fair chance his condition might only be temporary and the swelling is causing the amnesia. I need to get him to MRI. We need to determinate if his brain was permanently damaged or not. He would have a very good chance if his brain is only swollen with no ill effects later on. Head injuries are always tricky and very dangerous. Once the swelling is gone, he could regain his memories in a few hours, months, years or possibly not at all. If it's some kind of permanent injury then there is the definite probability that memory recall will never happen. It's too early to tell."

So even a doctor couldn't give Harold any prognosis.

"But there is one thing you can be sure of. That hand of yours saved his life."

Harold's fingers were a small price to pay, if it meant John would live. "Is he able to leave?" Harold asked curiously. He was sure John would want to be out of a hospital as soon as possible.

"Physically there is no reason not to. His rib is holding out fine and he's not in danger of bleeding internally. The fracture is more of a result of repeated breaks over the years that weakened his bones. I was surprised your ribcage held out without problems after all the hours he was keeping pressure on you."

"I have never had broken ribs," Harold replied robotically.

"Your friends, the scary doctor and the detective, they said you were trapped under that building for six hours before they got you both out."

"I don't remember much from that time," Harold lied easily, he was thankfully too skilled in that. He certainly didn't want to relive his memories in a doctor's presence. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow. I will order MRI for him this afternoon. And I want to see your new blood results in the morning. I want to be sure there is no infection in your body. After that you're both free to leave, but you have to come back every day to change the dressing on your hand."

Harold looked at him, because the doctor paused his explanation.

"Mr. Swan, as much as I would like to say Mr. Rooney is in worse condition than you, your fingers are the most serious issue here. He's not in danger. His memory is a problem, but you're the one who almost lost two fingers. If there's the slightest possibility of infection, I can't risk your hand like that and you would have to stay here. Even if your tests tomorrow are ok, it will be a long time before they stop bothering you. Your nerves will take months to heal," the doctor warned him. "You will need strong painkillers to get through the day."

"You have seen my medical records, correct?" Harold heaved himself to his feet.

"Yes."

"So you should know by now I'm a professional in surviving against all odds. I can't come back here, but I can assure you Ms. Shaw will take care of me."

"Alright. As long as I'm the one who will inform her about your care."

"Certainly," Harold nodded without fuss. He limped back to John's door, knocked on it and entered.

Harold's heart stopped for a beat when he saw John standing by the bed dressed only in a hospital gown. "John!" He quickly went to his friend's side when it looked like the man could keen over. "You can't leave! You have nowhere to go!" he chastised him automatically. It was such a _John Reese_ thing to do to leave at first convenient opportunity.

Harold stopped a hair's breadth from John's body with hands raised if John needed help. He caught himself in time before their bodies touched. He almost forgot John didn't know him and his approach would be seen as a threat.

Harold looked at John, holding his breath. There was that calculating, curious expression again. Harold was in trouble.

"I have questions," John drawled, never releasing Harold's eyes.

"Of course you do," Harold mumbled, baffled by his own breathless voice. He finally gathered enough willpower to avoid John's eyes. There was no reason for them to stay that close.

Harold moved his whole body to the side and accidentally bared his neck. He didn't take into account their proximity. When John softly exhaled, the warm breeze bathed Harold's skin. His shoulder came up protectively. Harold made several steps back just to be out of range of John's breath, but it didn't help any. His memories slipped into place.

 _"John-" Harold's strangled voice cut through the heavy silence. John's body was on top of his, but it wasn't like before. John didn't try to_ _hold_ _his weight on his forearms. No._ _John_ _just laid sprawled on_ _him_ _and for one panicked moment_ _Harold_ _thought John was dead and he was trapped under_ _John's_ _lifeless form. Oh God. He couldn't move. His left hand was on fire. He couldn't properly breathe, because every time his lungs expanded, it was as if his ribcage tried to move a thousand pounds of rocks on his chest. He couldn't stand the idea of surviving this ordeal without John._

 _"John?" Harold whispered with tears in his eyes. His own panicky breathing was too loud. He couldn't hear John's. He couldn't move. His heart beat inside his ears._

 _Harold held his breath. He remembered John's words when he had patiently taught him how to keep his head level in dangerous situations. He needed to calm down. He needed to assess his situation. He needed to ignore his body's panic reactions and focus. Once his breath wasn't the most distracting sound around him, Harold could hear the dripping sound._

 _Drip._

 _Harold counted to six._

 _Drip._

 _The source was somewhere slightly above his left ear and every time the drop fell down, moist droplets landed on_ _the_ _skin behind his ear. Harold knew that metallic scent. When the ferry blew up people were gathered in one of the closest halls and triangulated by injuries there. The building reeked with the same scent. Blood._

 _Harold's blood pressure went up. As much as he thought he was trapped, he had spent a long time moving his neck fractionally until he could feel the warm breeze on it. John's breath. John was alive. The dripping eased as the hours went on. At some point Harold had fallen asleep._

"Harold, look at me!"

Harold blinked. He raised his confused eyes to John's. Somehow he had ended up sitting on a plastic chair. John was kneeling at his feet. That was hardly appropriate. Ignoring the situation went better when Harold closed his eyes and relaxed.

"Are you alright, Harold?"

Harold softly smiled. He heard the same question so many times in their years together. "Yes, thank you, John." It was like the last three days never happened. But when Harold opened his eyes, John still looked at him with his calculating stare. There was no trace of his previous concern. Harold's smile slipped away. He wanted to start a conversation, but didn't know what to say to this person in front of him.

"You know, I don't know anyone. I'm looking at people and I'm going only with my instincts. The nurse I'm seeing as a threat and I don't want her near me. The doctor was probably right about my diagnosis, but I don't trust him. I look at you-" John hesitated slightly.

Harold watched the transformation from John's calculating gaze to confusion.

"I know you're lying to me, and I still don't feel threatened." John explained with a creased forehead. "It doesn't make sense."

"Lying?" Harold repeated flatly. How on Earth could John know?

"Your name. When I'm saying it out loud it seems- right. Like deep down I know that _. Are you alright, Harold?_ It fits. I can imagine saying it out loud. I know I said it at some point. When you introduced yourself - _Harold Swan_ \- there was only a blank space. Nothing. That was a lie."

Harold watched him with mouth opened in shock. "That is incredible, John," he breathed out with astonishment.

"No. That is your chance of telling me the actual truth. Who are you?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that." Harold looked at him sadly. "I can't ask you to trust me, John. I know you will never do that without a good cause, but I can't harm your life by telling you anything incriminating."

"My name is not John Rooney," he drawled angrily.

"Your name is John." Harold told him firmly. "Tomorrow, we're leaving this place and then I can answer your question better in a secure location."

"You said I was a soldier."

"Yes. You also worked for the Government as a CIA operative," Harold nodded.

"You said I was your coworker."

Harold's heart squeezed in anxiety. He didn't want to diminished their relationship to such a simple and impersonal term. "I would rather give you the title of _a friend_ but it would be up to you. We have worked together. You were once my employee."

"Am I your bodyguard?" John guessed.

"You were certainly protective of me but it never was our arrangement."

"Are you my handler?"

Harold felt amused by the questions. John certainly didn't give up easily. "I never had a desire to work for any Government agency and I never will. Also, I'm not sure you are that kind of person who lets anyone to handle them."

"Did you know you're famous between nurses?"

Harold's forehead creased in confusion. "I wasn't aware there existed a popularity contest." He felt slightly uncomfortable because all those random questions had a hidden motive. Harold forgot how much John could manipulate the conversation just to get his results.

"According to them you repeated my name when you were waking up from surgery. You wouldn't stay still until someone assured you I was alright. My name was the first one you asked about when you could talk. Once they told you you could take a walk you were always in my room."

Harold patiently waited for the main question, because it was after all his own fault he didn't pay enough attention to John's seemingly innocent inquiries.

"The nurse, she told me we were trapped under the building and I was trying to protect you with my body, even though it's not my job as you said yourself. I'm alive because you tried to shield my head with your hand. So-"

Harold internally winced. This was it.

"Who are you to me?" John watched him with intense eyes.

The pregnant pause was interrupted by a nurse barging into the room. "Mr. Rooney, your MRI- Oh my God!" she yelp excitedly. "Are you asking him to marry you? Oh God, sorry!" she quickly rushed from the room and closed the door.

For Harold the absurdity of their situation reached another level of completely unreal.

The door opened again and Ms. Shaw stood there with bored expression. "If you're asking him to marry you that means your amnesia is fake."

Harold watched in astonishment as John's body went rigid. He slowly climbed to his feet and turned around. The air between them was surprisingly charged with danger of two predators watching warily each other.

Harold stood up beside John. "There is no marriage proposal, Ms. Shaw." He explained. "John was only too kind and helped me to sit down. His memory is really-" - _-gone._ Harold should have been strong enough to say those simple words, but his voice broke down.

"Who are you?" John asked wearily.

"A ghost. Just like you," Ms. Shaw replied cryptically, waving a cloak of mystery for John to unravel. She did it on purpose just to let him mull something over in his head. As if John didn't have enough on his slate already.

"There's no need to be mysterious, Ms. Shaw. Tomorrow we'll be released from the hospital and we're taking John to my apartment. I would appreciate your assistance in a certain matter. If you could wait for me in the hall I would be most grateful."

Of course now would be the time Ms. Shaw decided to not answer at all and keep John in her sights. "Ms. Shaw?"

"What is he to me?" John asked calmly.

Sameen narrowed her eyes. "You want to know the truth? Do you know what I found out? Some things are ingrained in your core whether you have your memories or not. You want to know what is ingrained in yours?" She asked matter-of-factly like her question was only rhetorical. Harold didn't like that at all. She was always too blunt, too harsh.

"Sameen, please don't." Harold sighed with exasperation. Of course she would ignore him again. She casually drew her gun and pointed it at Harold's chest. John grabbed Harold's side and stepped in front of him to shield him with his body like so many times before.

" _That_ is ingrained in your head," she smirked victoriously.

"Would you, please, stop that!" Harold snapped angrily. He met her in the middle of the room. "He's hurt! He can't remember! Your futile attempt to scare him to death is not impressing me, Ms. Shaw. I will see you in the hall!" Harold dismissed her firmly and waited for her to leave the room. Once the doors were finally closed he turned back to John.

"John?" Harold asked softly and tried to catch his eyes. John's respiration was increased. His chest was quickly rising and falling. Harold could see the visible control that took John to calm down after a threat. "I'm sorry. Sameen's unique behavior is not easily explained unless you know her. I am sure you must be confused right now, but she meant well."

Harold's attempt at diffusing the situation was laughable. How could he apologize for Sameen's irrational action like that?

They were interrupted by knocking on the door. This time it was a different nurse. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rooney, but your MRI is waiting."

"Of course." Harold stepped to the side. "I'll wait for you in the hall, John," he needed to assure John that he wouldn't occupy his room when John wasn't there. Sameen was thankfully waiting for him.

"Ms. Shaw,'' Harold sighed without any heat. He really didn't want to chastise her for her behavior.

"You look tired," Sameen pointed out.

"Thank you, Ms. Shaw. That is exactly what I wanted to hear," Harold deadpanned sarcastically. His hip screamed in pain. His back protested with every movement. His hand throbbed.

"You need to rest," she reminded him. "I can wait for him."

As much as Harold wanted to protest he didn't have enough strength to argue when she was telling the truth. "Please, don't draw your gun on him again. We have to gain his trust, Sameen. If we don't succeed, he would sneak out of our apartment and we would never see him again."

Harold limped into his own room with Sameen by his side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 02**

"John?" Harold mumbled sleepily, still disoriented by the darkness in his room. The artificial lamp outside the window helped only so much with his vision. All hospitals had their own distinctive stench of disinfectants. After Harold's spinal fusion it was that specific smell that stayed with him the most. He didn't have to be fully awake to know where he would find himself.

Just as much Harold didn't need to be sharp and freshly conscious to be aware of John's gaze on him. The room was silent. Harold patted his blanket for his glasses, they were thankfully still there where he left them. Once he was bespectacled again, Harold sat up and a shadow in a corner moved.

"John?" Harold whispered, squinting his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I asked the nurse if I could stay with you. I'm pretty sure I'm currently winning the favorite person contest on this floor." John replied with amusement.

Harold smiled softly. "It doesn't surprise me. You're a likeable person." He thought the easy banter would open a conversation between them, but John didn't say a word afterwards. Harold couldn't stand the silence. Even though he knew he was only playing into John's hand, that John was consciously waiting him out, wanting to know what Harold would reveal; Harold still asked "Is everything alright, John?"

"I dreamed about you. I was in the dark. Everything hurt. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move either, but I heard your voice. I knew you were there. I knew-"

Harold held his breath.

"I knew that if you're there, it would be alright. Is it a memory?"

"Could be." Harold said cautiously. He didn't want to raise John's or his own hopes up. "Or it could be your subconscious telling you I am worthy of your trust." Harold flinched when John suddenly moved to his bed and switched on the lamp above his head. He blinked several times to adjust his eyes to the light.

John sat on his bed, thankfully an appropriate distance this time, but he was still looking at Harold intensely. "Who are you? You're lying to me and I still trust you."

"A dear friend, I hope," Harold murmured softly.

John shook his head in confusion. "It's like I have the word on the tip of my tongue but I can't grasp it. I'm looking at people and classifying them - threat or a friend. That woman, Shaw; I know she can be lethal. She's definitely a threat to me, to you as well, but you're acting like you're not concerned about her at all. Even when she's pulling a gun on you."

Harold didn't want anything more than to at least alleviate John's concern just a little. "It was Sameen's way of shocking you. She's another former CIA operative, but I can assure you she's not a danger to you or me. You two are friends as well."

"That detective, Fusco," John continued.

Harold wanted to know what else he missed when he had fallen asleep. Apparently sometime today John had a chat with Detective Fusco as well. "You're on a first name basis. His name is Lionel." Harold said smiling a bit. He was privy to John's teasing tone when he wanted to aggravate the poor detective.

"He's my partner? He told me I work with him at the precinct?" John questioned.

"Yes." Harold didn't hesitate at all, even though his thoughts were a bit muddled and he couldn't remember if John Rooney's identity really was a detective or not. Shame on him to not being more informed and prepared for John's questions.

"I can believe that," John nodded. "I can picture myself working with him. It sits well."

Thank God. Harold couldn't imagine what it had to be like for John to suddenly have every facet of information about his life erased from his memory. John's last identity was NYPD Homicide Detective John Riley. Maybe that was comfortable enough for John to still remember subconsciously.

"And then there's you again with friends like two detectives from the homicide task force and a former CIA agent. They both listen to you like you're their employer," John surmised.

"And a friend as well," Harold added, looking into John's eyes which were almost black in the golden light of the lamp. He stilled because they were back to the question John had asked several times that day. Harold always avoided the answer because he had no idea what to say.

"So tell me, Harold. Why are you so special to me? I don't remember you and I would still die for you without any thought."

How would he answer that? Harold swallowed, his throat dry.

"Am I so kind hearted and suicidal that I would willingly die with you under the rubble?"

Harold froze. That was one thing he had never considered. In the chaos on the rooftop when Harold along with John left the suitcase, they tried to get down as fast as possible. John maneuvered Harold to the elevator knowing they may not have enough time to get down.

 _The building started to sh_ _ake_ _when they exited the elevator. God, Harold was terrified for John, but the former CIA operative just stopped in_ _his_ _tracks and looked above. He made the math just as well as Harold. They were too far from the main door. Definitely too far for Harold, but if John would_ _run_ _he still had a chance_ _to_ _make it out unharmed._

 _"John-"_

 _"Back," John_ _pushed_ _him into the elevator. "Get on the ground, Harold."_

 _"John-" Harold did as he was told and the next second John was above him_ _covering him like a blanket._ _"You should have run yourself," he whispered shakily, but Harold's trembling body had nothing on the building around them._

 _"Maybe," John drawled calmly. "You can tell me off if we survive, what do you say?"_

 _Harold clenched his eyes shut. He grabbed John's suit jacket in his fists when the world crumbled._

"Harold? Harold?!" John repeated with a patient tone.

"I apologize." Harold blinked several times and tried to shake off the effect of the memory. They were both alive. There was no logical reason for Harold to be scared out of his mind.

"You have PTSD," John informed him warily.

"Yes. It would appear so." Harold felt annoyed. They didn't have time to delve into his mental state. They needed to figure out how to help John remember. He wouldn't be in a familiar place, thanks to their use of the safe house — a place John would not know because of his amnesia. Sameen was preparing it for their arrival tomorrow. They couldn't tell John the whole truth. It would overwhelm him. "It's only a mild inconvenience. I will be fine, I assure you."

"I noticed you're hurt."

Harold looked at his bandaged hand. "It's nothing. I will just get around it like with everything else. You don't have to worry about me, John."

John gave him a small smile. "That's the thing. I don't have to care about a stranger, but I can't help it. Doesn't make sense to me." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I am sorry, John." Harold whispered guiltily. They never talked about feelings. Harold was a private person. John always avoided talking about anything too personal which suited Harold best.

"I wish I could give you a reasonable answer, but I can't. I was your employer when we met. We slowly worked on our relationship to the point I would safely say the term _friends_ suited us the most."

But if Harold was being honest with himself and if the situation was reversed, he wouldn't leave without John either. He would never abandon John to certain death under a concrete hell.

John studied him for a long time, then finally opened his mouth. "Were we ever together?"

Harold was confused for a second. He blinked several times. "As in-" The slight hesitation on his part surprised Harold the most. That, and the heavy heart when he forced himself to continue, "as in romantically?" Harold needed to be sure he understood John's question.

John nodded.

"No, John." Harold tried to make his tone even. It never occurred to him they would ever have a chance to be together as a couple. Sure, people had sometimes mistaken them for one and neither Harold nor John ever corrected their assumption. What was one more lie between so many? They wouldn't make an issue out of something so unimportant.

Only when John mentioned the possibility now, Harold felt like he almost yearned for it.

"I was in love with you." John stated calmly with a note of understanding.

"Absolutely not," Harold protested vehemently. He wasn't opposed to the idea of being with John in a romantic fashion, but he felt like he had to correct John's thoughts. Harold didn't want this - _person_ , who wasn't John - to assume things about the _real John_.

"You sound pretty sure. Did we ever talk about that?" John still watched him with interest.

"No, we never talked about personal things."

John nodded again, his tone completely matter-of-fact like it hadn't been significant at all. "So I could have been in love with you. That's the reason why I trust you unconditionally even though you're lying to my face. Makes sense."

Harold watch the satisfaction marking John's features. As if he finally had the answer to what was previously eluding him. What of it if Harold's world was upside down and his heart galloped frantically in his chest? Could it be true? Could it be possible that John did carry romantic feelings for him?

Harold cleared his throat, fighting his instinct to state his own opinion. "Unfortunately, I can't confirm your inference but you are free to draw your own conclusions. Maybe something will help you remember."

Harold lay back on a pillow with his gaze firmly on the wall behind John's shoulders. He was sure sleep would elude him for the rest of the night. His thoughts went back to John's words.

 _"So I could have been in love with you. That's the reason why I trust you unconditionally."_

"Sorry, I woke you up." John said after a long pause.

"That's alright," Harold reassured him without thought and with a flat voice. It was not alright at all.

* * *

Harold limped towards the car Ms. Shaw conveniently parked at the hospital entrance. He tried not to observe their surroundings, but he felt too vulnerable without scanning the parking lot or road. John, Detective Fusco and Sameen did the same. They had been hunted too long to forget the basic survival instincts. Although John had no idea about their past, he still relied on his training without even knowing why they needed to be wary.

"Are you sure you're well enough to leave?" John drawled lowly.

Harold didn't protest when John opened the rear door and helped him inside without missing a beat. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like John had remembered doing the same thing a million times before. "Yes. I'm sure they wouldn't release me otherwise."

Harold tried to get comfortable, but his hip protested. He stiffened his posture a bit more, but didn't let anything show on his face.

"You're hurt." John said quietly. Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco carried on a conversation in the front seat. "You're barely walking."

"It's an old injury," Harold explained. John had hinted the same thing yesterday when he visited Harold in the middle of the night, but Harold only thought John was talking about his hand. It didn't even occur to him John would be concerned about Harold's old wounds.

"How old?"

Harold had to hide his amusement with that question. Somehow John stopped being so cautious around him. John was still tense with Ms. Shaw, a bit weary of Detective Fusco, but he didn't hesitate to ask Harold questions out of curiosity.

"Five years, John." Harold replied sincerely. He didn't want to deny John information that he already knew.

"What happened if you don't mind my asking?"

Harold hesitated. He didn't know how exactly to answer because every explanation was too close to the truth. He didn't want John to know about the Machine yet. Just as he was on the verge of replying John looked out of the window and visibly shut down. Again, Harold had waited for too long to give his answer.

"It's not as if I want to cause you distress, John. Unfortunately, some answers are too complicated. I was hurt in an act of domestic assassination sanctioned by the U.S. Government, but this execution was later classified as a terrorist attack and presented to the media as such."

"So, how can you work with me?" John asked thoughtfully. "You said I was a CIA operative."

"Yes, but you had nothing to do with it. We met a year later and I hired you as a-" Harold hesitated. How could he sum up John's job? "-private investigator." Which was the truth. John investigated the Irrelevant Numbers.

* * *

Harold smiled when Ms. Shaw opened the door to their safe house and Bear barked enthusiastically. He gave the canine an affectionate pat on his back. "Look who's here, Bear." Harold's smile stretched over his face, when he saw how cautiously John looked at the dog. "He's-"

"Belgian Malinois, I know."

Harold's heart leapt at the matter of fact tone John used. He hoped John remembered, but at the same time knew it could be just one of the informational facts John's memory stored. "He's yours, John," Harold continued in his previous sentence.

"I thought we agreed we're not going to lie to him," Sameen hissed before she turned to John. "You gave Bear to him as a guard dog. On that note, I'm taking the dog for tonight and I'm off. Bear!" Sameen patted her thigh.

"I'm off as well," Detective Fusco shrugged. "I can't wait to be home with Lee. Glasses, I'll be in touch."

Harold stiffened when the detective patted him lightly on his shoulder. A quick look to the side confirmed that John watched the display.

"Take care of Mr. Clean Slate, but rest as well, ok? He's not the only one hurt."

"Certainly, Detective," Harold replied firmly. In a matter of seconds he was again left alone with John. He wasn't used to feeling nervous around John. In the past Harold most definitely preferred John's company to anyone else. Now, he just didn't know how to act around him. John's long questioning stare didn't help in that matter.

"Yes?" Harold looked at him patiently.

"The dog's mine?" John asked probably for clarification of Ms. Shaw's words. Harold needed to have some time alone with Sameen to discuss their approach of John's mental state.

"On one of your investigations you found Bear and decided to adopt him," he explained to John.

"And then I gave him to you?"

"Yes." John didn't have to know about the circumstances. Oh God. There it was again, John's amused disbelieving smile.

"How blind can you possibly be, Harold?"

"Beg your pardon?" Often times in the last few days Harold had a suspicion he was the one suffering from a concussion, because he was completely at loss with _this_ _John's_ words.

"I gave you my dog for protection. I guarded your life even if it wasn't my job. I decided to die with you under a collapsing building. Wake up, Harold!"

Harold didn't like this John very much. Every sentence uttered in _this John's_ exasperated tone grated on his nerves and Harold fought his instinct to protect John even from the person who had John's face.

"I was in love with you." John concluded his speech.

"That is hardly relevant in your situation," Harold straightened his back and held John's gaze firmly. "Are you trying to say that by me admitting to have previously undiscovered feelings towards John your memory will miraculously come back? I certainly doubt that would happen." Wouldn't it be wonderful if that was true.

John watched him impassively.

"You're drawing conclusions about a man you don't know at all," Harold's voice broke down in distress. A second later he hung down his head as much as his fused spine allowed him to do. He had let himself be trapped in John's scheme. This _person_ , who didn't know them at all made assumptions only on the facts as he determined them to be.

Harold's feelings were too raw. Every word about his old John from this new person got under Harold's skin. A few minutes of easy banter under a collapsed building changed so much for him and John. Harold never felt so much gratitude towards someone and at the same time so much fear for the safety of that person. If the time could be-

"You love him too."

"Mr. Reese!" Harold exclaimed angrily and halted. He closed his eyes with his heart beating madly and tried to suppress the angry tears that threatened to spill from them. He could feel his hands shaking.

"So John… _Reese_." John said and Harold didn't even have to open his eyes to see the satisfaction and happiness that he heard in that voice.

Harold turned around and went to the kitchen. He focused his entire being on preparing tea with one hand. It gave him enough time to calm down. He couldn't decide who he was more angry with. Himself or this new John?

Harold needed to draw a line between himself and John.

"I'm sorry." John whispered from the doorway.

"You don't have to be," Harold replied without any inflection. It was his own fault he was constantly forgetting how treacherous John's CIA training made him. _His John_ had at least tried to hide it by some modicum of civility.

"Can I help you with that?" John asked. "You can sit down and rest a bit."

"No, thank you," Harold measured his words carefully.

"I didn't mean to offend you."

Harold turned around. "Yes, you did. And you succeeded spectacularly. You got what you wanted. You finally know your name." One look at that face that had been so dear to him all those years before and now Harold wanted nothing more than to run and hide somewhere. That feeling was absolutely ridiculous. Maybe he lost his spine after all those years.

When Harold first met John he had expected this kind of behavior from a former CIA operative. He was prepared for it. They had created a game of cat and mouse. John's subtle inquiries left him amused most of the time. Harold purposely arranged several false clues for John just to keep him occupied. He was never under this kind of constant vicious questioning. _His John_ was much more subtle.

"Do you want me to give you a tour around the apartment?" Harold asked coldly and turned back to his tea.

"I can manage on my own."

Harold felt partly guilty that John's departure made him more calm than the act of preparing tea. After a while he put his teacup on the table, sat down and watched the rising steam. His left hand throbbed in pain again, but he ignored it.

Harold lifted his glasses, careful not to leave any smears on them and rubbed his eyes. Every person had their lowest point. Harold was afraid he was slowly reaching his own.

"I really am sorry, Harold." John sat down on the other side of the table.

The silence between them became oppressive, but Harold didn't want to interrupt it.

"You didn't offer me tea," John remarked with a small lift of his mouth.

"You don't drink tea, Mr. Reese," Harold replied flatly. Even the old name didn't feel right. He couldn't address John that way.

 _Harold scanned the book on the shelf with intent. He was so preoccupied he didn't_ _hear J_ _ohn entering the library until he drawled_ –

 _"Sencha green tea, one sugar."_

 _Harold huffed. He put the book down, took his beverage, opened the lid and sipped._ _It was p_ _repared exactly how he liked it. Why didn't it surprise him? "You've been paying attention." He limped slowly to his computer station._

 _"Relax, Finch, it's just tea. I haven't guessed your favorite color yet."_

 _Harold pretended he_ _hadn't heard_ _the amusement in John's voice. He took another sip just to hide his own smile. They had a mission. They needed to focus on Irrelevant Numbers. They weren't there to start some budding bromance. They didn't have time for that. Irrelevant Numbers were more important than their working relationship._

Harold hastily stood up. "I'm afraid I need to lay down."

* * *

Harold woke up again in the middle of the night. Something was keeping from sleeping. He tried to enlist his other senses. Not something, someone. He squinted his eyes in the dark without moving. "John?" he asked with disbelief.

"Sorry."

Harold didn't have to be a genius to hear the remorse in John's voice. "What is it? Did you have a bad dream?"

"I can't sleep. I'm lying in bed and my brain just won't shut up. It's practically screaming at me to be near you. It's irrational. I don't know why, but I feel like something bad is going to happen if I don't have you in my sight."

Harold heaved a sigh. How could he explain a perfectly reasonable instinct to a man who didn't remember going through the dangerous situations they had been exposed to the last couple of years.

"I'm sorry I offended you, Harold."

Harold watched the dejected line of John's shoulders. Maybe his behavior changed, but John's body language remained the same. John meant what he said.

"Forgive me. It won't happen again." John looked at him intently. "I have so many questions and no idea why I just don't ask them. I don't know why it's easier for me to trick the answers out of you."

"It's your training." Harold stated the obvious.

"I can't stand the idea of you being hurt by anyone else, or by me. I'm trying to figure things out and remember, but it's useless. The more I try to remember the more my head hurts. I hate this nagging feeling in my head."

Harold didn't say a word. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to have all the information about the people surrounding him suddenly gone. He would never hesitate to offer _his John_ any help. Even if the solution was only companionship, but he was getting surprisingly weary of this _man_. The more he knew _this John_ , the more he distrusted him.

"You should rest, John. The doctor said it's crucial to your recovery." The last talk Harold had with John's doctor before they were released from a hospital the medical professional informed him that John's brain wasn't healed just yet. The swelling was still in there. Not at the same level as before, but obviously still causing John's amnesia.

"Would you mind if I stay here?"

"No, I wouldn't." That surprised Harold even more. As much as he felt distrust and weariness in John's presence, he didn't want to cause him any additional stress because deep down _this person_ was still his John. All the protective instincts this man felt for Harold belonged to his John. An uneasiness _this John_ felt whenever they weren't in a same room belonged to his John as well.

Somewhere under that thick layer of a severe concussion there was still _his_ John.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 03**

Harold had to avert his eyes when Ms. Shaw carefully unwrapped his injured hand. His skin was still swollen and angry red. Stitches held the edges together. Pain was radiating from the entire limb, but Harold didn't have any sensation in two of his fingers. The doctor warned him about that. Harold was only too aware of John standing behind his back in the doorway surveying the scene.

"It looks good," Sameen swapped his entire palm with disinfectant, applied the antibiotic cream followed by the gauze and a new bandage. "But you have to go to the doctor in a few days and had blood tests done again. We have to be sure there is no infection."

"Alright. I'll make arrangements with Doctor Tillman." Harold nodded, understanding her concern. "How is Bear?" he said changing the subject quickly.

"Fine, but I won't bring him here. You have to be careful with that hand, Harold."

"Of course," he gave her a small grateful smile even though he wasn't happy with the situation. Bear could provide a distraction for both him and John.

"Relax, Harold. Lee and I took care of him when you three were in the hospital. He's gonna be fine. When I'm sure he won't hurt your hand, I'll bring him back."

"Thank you, Sameen."

"You have enough on your plate," she indicated John with her eyes.

Harold only huffed, because she didn't know the half of it. He raised an eye creasing his forehead when Sameen remained sitting at the table and not moving away. Highly unusual behavior for her. "Everything alright, Ms. Shaw?"

"You should know that something happened today," she started her explanation meekly. "The phone started to ring when I was walking by."

Harold froze. Was that really possible? Was The Machine sentient enough to store a backup copy of herself?

"It's her." Sameen continued as if sensing his unspoken question.

The answer was yes. The Machine was obviously sentient in God mode. Harold wanted her to be able to calculate the contingencies for every possible situation. She had to see her own future.

John sat down as well, his interest picked up. "Friend or a foe?"

"Friend," Harold replied thoughtfully. "We thought she was lost to us."

"Do you want me to go with you when you meet her? She doesn't know I can't remember. I could stay behind you as a bodyguard."

John had assumed that _she_ meant a living person. Harold watched as Ms. Shaw drew her gun. He almost chastised her again, but Sameen dismantled the gun expertly in a matter of seconds and moved the pieces to John's side of the table.

"Go on!" She dared John fiercely.

John carefully examined the metal parts and as quickly as Sameen had disassembled the weapon; John put the gun back together.

Harold couldn't help but marvel at this. The brain was such a complicated organ. It was stunning what information it was able to store without John consciously knowing about something to even access the knowledge.

"He's still useful, Harold." Sameen smirked. "I want to test him on a shooting range. But if she's still producing Irrelevant Numbers, I can work with him."

Harold's protective nature wasn't ready to agree. "I'm afraid, Ms. Shaw, that this is a bad idea. John's barely out of the hospital."

"Most importantly... John is still in the room!" John interrupted their conversation. "And... John can think for himself!" He assured them confidently.

Harold had heard the contained fury in John's voice so many times, that it was unmistakable now. What he was sure of as well was the fact John would be going with Ms. Shaw anywhere, even if it meant heading into danger. John had spent the last two days with Harold almost constantly and now Sameen had opened up herself as another source for John's inquiries. Maybe she was better equipped to handle John's deceitful behavior than he.

"I would need a decent laptop, Sameen."

"Who is this person?" John asked both of them.

Ms. Shaw helpfully gathered the medical items from the table but left the explaining to Harold. Very cleverly done. Harold took a deep breath.

"Someone who had access to a certain list of people who were in danger. We worked with her for several years. Me as a-" Harold hesitated.

"Hacker?" Sameen supplied the word Harold didn't want to use. She sat back down.

"That's not the proper term," Harold disagreed distastefully.

"If the name fits," Sameen shrugged her shoulders. "Computer wizard than." She snipped then turned to John. "You and I are the people who do the leg work in this investigation team. Lionel helps as well when we need him."

"So I have two jobs?" John's forehead creased thoughtfully.

"Yes," Harold nodded. After all it was all the truth.

"Do I need two jobs? Financially? Do I have some kind of debts?" John asked with concern.

"No!" Harold answered quickly. "You just don't like sitting idly by. This is more like a hobby where you have the satisfaction of actually helping people when your daily job sometimes feels like the opposite." Harold replied softly.

"And we work together." John added.

Harold could almost see John doing the math in his head. He was still mentally working with the idea that the _old John_ was in love with him. "I hired you because you needed a purpose in your life and it's more than likely you stayed because you enjoyed it."

Harold could sense the change in the air. He heard the intake of John's breath. He could see that John was trying to remember. "What is it John?" Harold asked expectantly.

"Purpose. I heard that before." John rubbed his temple. "Say it again."

Harold tried to remember his exact words from the day they met. But to recreate the whole conversation Harold needed help from Ms. Shaw. John wasn't the only one who could use a slightly different approach to a problem if needed. He was absolutely sure John in his agitated state of mind would supply his own words himself.

Harold gave Ms. Shaw a long look. She reacted exactly as he predicted. With a blank stare.

"Sameen, I think we're done here. This isn't helping John at all. I need-" Harold didn't have to finish his words.

"This is exactly what he needs and you know that!" Ms. Shaw hissed angrily. "Look at him. If this is not going to help then enlighten me. What does he need when you know him so well?"

"Yes, Harold." John looked at him angrily. Harold could almost feel the seething fury. "What do I need?"

"You need a purpose." Harold thought back to all those years ago and tried to replicate his emotions as he had said those words once before. He had been desperate for John to agree at least to a trial period. Harold continued convincingly, "More specifically you need a job." He held John's gaze.

"You can call me Mr. Finch," John whispered breathlessly, his eyes wide with surprise. "Harold... _Finch_. It's a memory."

Harold smiled. He wouldn't feel smug. That was beneath him, but he was very happy with himself. "Thank you, Ms. Shaw." He heaved himself to his feet. "I'm going to prepare tea for myself. Coffee, anyone?"

"Don't mention it and no thanks on the coffee," Sameen shrugged off Harold's gratitude and the offer. "I'm going for your laptop. I'll be back soon," she rushed to add and was quickly gone.

"John?" Harold hoped he wouldn't have to repeat his question.

"No, thanks."

This time Harold felt a bit of pride when he saw the carefully hidden admiration in John's eyes. "You're not the only one who can trick the answers out of a person, John," Harold snarked as he went to the kitchen. From behind him he heard John quietly uttering the name – Harold _Finch_ – repeatedly, probably trying to spur his memory further.

* * *

Harold's fingers were decidedly slower on the keyboard. He tried to use his left hand when Ms. Shaw had set up the laptop for him, but he quickly reconsidered and abandoned that plan because his hand hurt. Badly.

Harold worked long minutes only with his right hand. They lived with the knowledge that the Samaritan that they had battled with was destroyed, but Harold wanted to be sure it was his Machine that had contacted them. If she was capable of storing a backup copy of herself, Samaritan could easily be as clever as his Machine.

Harold tried to ignore Ms. Shaw who was pacing the apartment from left to right and impatiently stop behind his back to watch his progress every once in a while.

"It will take some time, Ms. Shaw. You don't have to stay here. If you want to take John to the shooting range now may be the ideal time for your little field trip," he reminded her _very subtly_ but hoped Sameen would let it slide and take the hint.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Harold?" John smirked.

Harold ignored John's amused voice. _This man_ was amused by Harold's blatant way of getting them out of the apartment. _His John_ would also find merriment in the whole situation, but he wouldn't leave Harold's side just to spite him. "I'm trying to work, John," Harold huffed in exasperation.

"Fine," Sameen grumbled. "Let's go."

Harold glanced to the side where she placed a bottled water near him and loosened the lid.

"I'm your doctor. Drink the whole thing before we get back." Sameen ordered sternly.

"Of course." Harold didn't protest. The sooner they could leave the better.

He hadn't spent ten minutes by himself in the apartment when the front door opened again and a slightly disheveled certain detective walked casually into the room.

"How is it going, Glasses?" the detective asked while nearing the table where Harold was working.

"What can I do for you, Detective?" Harold returned with a questioning half-smile.

"I was in the neighborhood," Lionel Fusco muttered, his interest clearly on the full water bottle. "How you feeling?"

The visit, the reason for it, sounded very suspicious, but Harold didn't voice his thoughts. "Well enough to work. Ms. Shaw took John to a shooting range."

"Hm." The detective hummed in understanding.

"Which I am sure you already knew." This time Harold didn't censure his words or his slightly exasperated tone. "What is it Ms. Shaw is so afraid of? That I can't stay in an apartment five minutes alone without losing my mind?"

"It's not an easy situation," Lionel surmised as he leaned on the table. "For anyone. I know she looks tough, but the thing with Mr. Clean Slate is-"

The pause in detective's speech was longer than Harold would have liked.

"-Let's just say it's not good. Your hand is not helping the matter either. You know it wasn't exactly a walk in the park convincing people where to look for you two. She had already lost that crazy bird Root. I was afraid that if you and John were dead too she wouldn't have handled it well."

And as always Ms. Shaw didn't mention any of this to him because thanks to her CIA training she couldn't stand to be seen as weak. Harold remembered his first encounter with Sameen in the hospital after he and John were rescued very well.

 _"John?" Harold's world was fuzzy. It felt like someone took a sledgehammer to his head, but it was_ _a_ _common side effect of anesthesia he was used to._

 _"He's alive,"_ _Sameen told him._

 _Harold's anxiety eased a bit. Ms. Shaw would never lie to him. He let himself relax. Once the tension_ _in_ _his muscles lessened it was easier to focus on his senses._ _Harold slowly opened his eyes_ _. Sameen already placed his glasses on his face because_ _the_ _world around him was in sharp focus._

 _"How are you feeling?" Ms. Shaw asked softly, her eyes never leaving his._

 _"A little bit confused. John's alright?" Harold already heard the answer, but it_ _w_ _ouldn't hurt to ask again just to have_ _some_ _clarification_ _now that_ _he was mostly himself again._

 _"Yeah. He took a blow to his head. He's not conscious yet, but it's not a surprise. Do you remember what happened?"_ _Sameen gently probed him._

 _Harold's hand throbbed_ _excruciatingly_ _. No stranger to chronic pain, he_ _still_ _remembered vividly the intens_ _e agony he felt while buried in_ _the concrete coffin. His heart stuttered for a_ _moment; he_ _braved through it_ _but still_ _asked fearfully_ _. "Did I lose my fingers?"_

 _"No._ _The surgeons_ _did a pretty good job repair_ _ing_ _the damage, but the joints in your fingers were shattered._ _They aren't_ _sure if you'll use them again."_

 _She looked at him sympathetically as if_ _it were_ _the end of the world. "Well, it_ _might_ _certainly be a bit of a challenge to use a keyboard, but I'm sure I'll manage." Their battle with Samaritan had taught Harold not to dwell on minor problems. Compared to the bigger picture his_ _possibly irreparably damaged fingers_ _were only a slight inconvenience. Root was dead. John severely injured. Ms. Shaw looked healthy._

 _"How is Detective Fusco?" Harold held his breath for the last member of their team._

 _"He went through surgery, but he's gonna be fine. You know him. Thrives everywhere like a fungus."_

 _Harold smirked in amusement. He was tired. He wouldn't oppose to some painkillers, but in that moment Harold felt absolutely content. They survived against the evolved artificial intelligence_ _that had_ _hunted them for years. Unfortunately_ _the victory came with a_ _horrible price in_ _the_ _form of_ _the deaths of_ _some of their friends, but the four_ _of them were alive._ _.._

Harold blinked and came back to the present. Detective Fusco's eyes were focused somewhere in a vicinity of the wall so he hadn't even noticed Harold spacing out.

"-I'm just saying she looks tough, but she's worried about you and Tall, Dark and Empty."

"Thank you for your concern, Detective." Harold moved his upper body to better look at Fusco's face. "Our situation is not easy for anybody. But let me assure you I can be left alone in the safety of this apartment. Ms. Shaw already saw that my hand is healing. I _**have**_ faced worse odds in my life."

Harold didn't exactly know why he felt calm and grounded. He could very well see his future. As much as working with only one hand seemed frustrating, he was still able to do his job. John was slowly remembering. He recalled only a fraction of his life, but Harold believed John would get better.

Harold smiled for a second up at the good detective. "John's condition is improving, Detective. I'm positive it is only a matter of time before his memory will come back. You are almost recovered. Sameen is all right. At this moment it looks like the Machine is still out there and she's trying to communicate with us. Our work will probably continue exactly as before."

But when Harold said those words out loud, he heard how presumptuous they sounded. "Of course I would fully understand if you decided to sever your ties with our work."

Lionel snorted. "Like I ever had a chance to say no." He shrugged his shoulders. "Thinking back about it I remember several times I did say, 'No!', and your boy didn't listen. Probably some medical condition with his ears."

Harold gave him an amused smile and nodded. "John can certainly be resourceful."

"Resourceful my ass. He's stubborn as a mule." Fusco grumbled under his breath.

Harold wisely held his tongue. "You can stay here, if you like, Detective, but I have to work."

Harold didn't have enough time. He needed to check several things. He needed to contact his Machine if his suspicions were correct. And most of all he needed to know their new Number.

"Won't be a problem," Lionel assured him and moved away to sit down on the sofa.

Harold assumed that much. Either John or Ms. Shaw had used Detective Fusco as his babysitter before. At least for now they were all relatively safe and Harold's life wasn't in danger.

* * *

Several hours later Harold took his first sip from bottled water by his hand. His face morphed into distasteful indignation. Harold had already verified the identity of his Machine, that it had indeed contacted them, and now he waited for their new Number. "Coffee, Detective?" Harold looked in the direction of sofa, where a certain member of the NYPD Homicide task force was now leafing through a beauty magazine.

Harold watched as Lionel inclined his head thoughtfully. That, and Lionel's silence made Harold rise from the chair and slowly shuffle to the other side of the apartment behind detective's back. Harold leaned slightly closer.

"I didn't know there is something wrong with your skin, Detective?" Harold chuckled.

"Jesus!" Fusco flinched and yelled. "Wear a bell, would you?!"

"Do you need any specific pointers? I can be of help," Harold assured him half jokingly, straightening his back.

"Did you need anything?" Lionel scowled at him disapprovingly and ignored the question.

"I asked if you wanted coffee?" Harold tried but failed to keep the humour out of his voice when he added, "But you were so engrossed in the magazine you didn't hear me."

"Yeah. Caffeine sounds great. How is it going?" Detective Fusco asked with interest, pointedly changing the subject of Harold's amusement. He rose from the couch and followed Harold into the kitchen and leaned on the counter. After a small pause when Harold put two cups on the granite countertop and was in the middle of selecting soothing Sencha green tea leaves for himself, Fusco edged closer.

"Shouldn't I do that? I can help. You need your rest," he pointed out thoughtfully.

"Under no circumstances am I **not** going to be able to prepare my own tea, Detective." Harold's spine stiffened, he felt offended. His mind was previously too occupied with work to think about John, but now he nervously glanced to the clock on the wall. John and Ms. Shaw were probably on their way back from the day filled not only with shooting but with more training of John's combat skills.

 _"You love him too."_ John's voice echoed in his mind.

Harold shook his head. The memory was too persistent. He lifted the small pot with boiling water more forcefully then he should have and a few droplets landed on the counter. Harold shouldn't have to be thinking about John's words. They were pointless. _This John_ didn't know them at all.

"Everything alright, Glasses?" the detective asked with concern.

"Yes, thank you." Harold replied flatly, he made Lionel's coffee first then left the tea leaves to soak in the remaining hot water.

"You're not a bit... tense?" The detective's inquiring tone left Harold aggravated even more.

"I am alright, Detective." Harold went for the water bottle and emptied it into the sink. He pointedly stared at Fusco until said man raised his hands in surrender.

"I won't say a word to her!" Fusco conceded.

In this case _her_ indicated Ms. Shaw and Harold's suspicions were confirmed. Detective Fusco was on babysitting duty because the ex-CIA operative didn't want him to be alone. "Appreciated!" Harold returned nodding his head.

They both heard the notification ping coming from the laptop.

"Oh," Harold abandoned his tea and limped back to the other room. It really meant they had their primary purpose again - saving people, stopping certain crimes from happening. Only Harold couldn't care less about their future work when he saw a social security number. He cared only about those nine numbers he remembered so very well. He stared at the digits – 380-00-0050 – John's social security number.

Harold's heart started beating in panic, his breathing became labored.

"Glasses?" Detective Fusco inquired.

"I need your phone!" Harold snapped back to action. "Now!" He had already reached out with his hand only his urgency evaporated when in that moment Ms. Shaw opened the door. John entered the apartment after her immediately sensing the whole situation from the tense silence in the room.

"Everything alright, Harold?" Ms. Shaw asked so quickly that John never had a chance to.

"No. Not at all." Harold sat down heavily at the table, hoping to think of an explanation. He closed his eyes and tried to think back, assess every threat there had been to John's life.

There were no loose ends from John's military career.

 _The Man in the Suit_ had certainly made a few enemies, but never anyone dangerous enough to want to harm John now. Besides that was years ago. Who could have possibly carried a torch for so many years without any contact? Besides the Machine would have already informed them before now if the threat was that old.

This has to be a recent threat but why would John's life be in danger now? There were no longer any of Samaritan's head operatives left and those, who had survived, had no idea that their small group was still operational and they were alive.

"Harold?" John asked softly, resting a hand on Harold's shoulder.

Harold must have been thinking too long. When he opened his eyes they were all gathered around the table with the exception of John. John was standing next to him placing the tea in front of him. The warmth radiating from John's palm unnerved him.

"Sencha green. One sugar."

Harold swallowed with a heavy heart. "You've been paying attention," he murmured quietly recreating another one of their conversations, but this time it didn't evoke any memories for John.

The ex-CIA operative just shrugged. "One of those useless tidbits. The sugar just fits I don't really know why."

Harold didn't tell him the truth. It fit because John knew every little detail about Harold's life. "Thank you," he said instead and tried to ignore his disappointment.

"So, tell us what's happening." Ms. Shaw could no longer contain her curiosity.

"It is our friend," Harold said sadly. "But I'm afraid our first Number is a bit of a surprise."

"Yours?" Sameen prodded.

"John's," he said into the ominous silence of the whole apartment. When no one said a word Harold focused on Ms. Shaw. "Did something happen? Have you noticed anything suspicious?"

Sameen shook her head.

"Ms. Shaw!" Harold pleaded with his eyes. He gave her a few minutes to think about their whole day, but Sameen's answer remained the same.

"No one suspicious. Nothing happened. We used a shooting range we have never went to before. I took him to one of my safe houses to bring my arsenal back here, but we didn't encounter anyone."

"It had to be recent." Harold voiced his previous thoughts.

"I haven't seen anyone, Harold." Ms. Shaw stated firmly. She looked over Harold's shoulder at John thoughtfully but he didn't keep her attention for long. Sameen's eyes fell back to Harold's. "If he saw someone in a crowd he doesn't know about it."

"Okay, you two prophet twins." Detective Fusco reasoned with both of them.

All eyes went to the good detective now. They waited for some levelheaded opinions, but Fusco surprised them all.

"Would you stop playing him when he's trying to save your life?" Lionel addressed John and Harold's spine stiffened. Finally someone else recognized John's modus operandi. John was currently trying to play on Harold's nervousness from physical contact and was waiting for Harold to admit his weakness. If this same bizarre scenario had occurred in the past Harold would certainly have had a few words with John about invading his personal space, but several hours buried under the concrete rubble changed that.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lionel." John used the mocking tone Harold hated the most. "I'm trying to be supportive of my friend. This is a difficult time."

"Listen, Tall, Dark and Deranged! Sit your ass down and shut up. You're worse than my teenage son with his first crush. No one is impressed."

Harold probably would have smiled, if he hadn't been too busy looking at the fierce detective in shock.

"I never thought I would say it but I really would like to have our repressed Wonder Boy back." Lionel smirked because John really sat down to his left. "Okay. Now's the time to have some serious talk. This one," he pointed to John, "doesn't remember. So a fresh course for the new guy would be good. Four Eyes?" Detective Fusco raised his eyebrow, his sight landed expectantly on Harold.

Harold cleared his throat. "Usually a social security number means the certain person is either a potential victim of some crime that is about to happen or the perpetrator of one. That's where you three investigate their backgrounds and do some basic surveillance. We can skip this part. You are not a perpetrator, John. Which means your life is in danger, but we don't have any idea from what direction."

"And I'm putting you at risk." John concluded.

Harold blinked in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"If I'm in danger, that means you're in danger as well because I'm here with you all the time." John explained.

"That is completely irrelevant," Harold stared at John in shock. He wasn't even surprised that John stared back without flinching.

"We can solve the problem easily," Ms. Shaw said offering a solution to ease the tension between them, "He's safe here. When you're going out someone will be with him. We'll monitor the surroundings of the apartment and see if someone magically appears."

"Or," the detective smirked. "He's in danger from you."

Harold rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I can assure you, Detective, I'm capable of feeling homicidal urges. For several people at once I have discovered," Harold deadpanned. "But a middle aged cripple is hardly a threat to an ex-CIA operative, don't you think?"

Fusco laughed. "I'll keep an eye on you as well."

Harold smiled back. He wasn't alone in this task. They wouldn't let anything happen to John. Certainly not on his watch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 04**

Harold worked on preparing his tea in the morning. His thoughts strayed to the previous evening when John had sat behind the laptop. Harold hesitated in the doorway of the bathroom when the said event happened but didn't chastise him.

Harold knew John had sometimes used his computer in the past, but he never lingered at the task long enough to occupy Harold's seat. The ex-CIA agent usually left before Harold even entered the room.

That was their routine in the past. Now this change in behavior left Harold feeling slightly uneasy. At the same time, to tell the truth, it was pleasant knowing that Harold had several hours to himself while John was entertaining himself.

Harold went to bed early and didn't even stir all night which meant John probably hadn't spent any time in his bedroom. Harold felt a bit disappointed with that knowledge. Also, as if on cue, Harold's insistent mind replayed John's words again.

 _"You love him too."_

Which was utterly ridiculous and untrue!

Harold was so immersed in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard John's footsteps. He flinched in surprise at the soft touch on his scarred neck.

"Was it the ferry bombing?" John asked, ignoring Harold's reaction.

Harold cleared his throat. "Yes." He was grateful John couldn't hear the erratic beating of his heart. Thankfully, John's fingers left his skin and the younger man leaned on the kitchen counter.

"I spent some time looking up the events about it yesterday. When I read the articles I had the feeling that I already had it at some point in the past." John slowly speculated.

"It wouldn't surprise me. You were always a resourceful man," Harold uttered even though his attention was on his tea; he needed to strain his favorite beverage. Harold's treacherous heart leapt again when he saw from the corner of his eye John inching closer.

"What is it you're trying to accomplish, John?" Harold asked calmly, never so much as hinting at his nervousness.

"I don't know-"

Harold rudely interrupted him with an amused smile. "Please, don't try to lie. It doesn't suit you very well." He finally finished his tea and moved his whole body toward John. "Anything else you are curious about?"

"Your reaction." John answered sheepishly and took a step closer.

"John," Harold shook his head in exasperation, very aware of keeping his own breathing steady. "I'm afraid my reactions aren't that important. You want to know if your close proximity is what? Scaring me? No. I spent six hours trapped under your body where words such as _personal space_ had no meaning."

Harold watched how John inclined his head slightly in fascination. "Also, I would only have to press here," he carefully applied pressure to John's ribs where the broken one was. Harold didn't want to hurt John further, he just wanted to stress his point.

John hissed in surprise.

"As I said, you are not scaring me, John." Harold smiled patting John's chest patronizingly. "Ask if you have questions, but don't assume the answers."

"I could say the same." John drawled softly.

Harold stared at him uncomprehendingly. Again, he was absolutely at a loss.

"You can pretend that you're calm as much as you like. You can regulate your breathing. I'm fairly sure you could bluff your way to the first prize in a Poker Tournament," John leaned a little closer. "But eyes never lie. Your pupils dilate when I'm close."

 _"You love him too."_ The voice in Harold's head insisted.

Harold smirked and grabbed his tea. "I hate to break it to you, John, but said dilated pupils are an unfortunate side effect of my sleeping pills. I'm using a prescribed combination of antihistamines and painkillers."

"Which is?" John prodded.

Harold continued with unhurried speed to his computer. "Common paracetamol in combination with diphenhydramine, also known as _Benadryl_. Anything else I can answer?"

"You're lying." John stated resolutely.

"I have never lied to you, John. That's my policy. Others may have done it in the past but not me," Harold assured him fiercely. This line of questioning, John even hinting at Harold's faulty integrity, was irritating.

"So, you will tell me the truth if I ask?" John reassured himself.

"Yes, certainly." Harold replied without thinking. John was obviously giving him time to put down his tea beside the laptop. Harold then turned around and waited for the dreading question.

"Do you love me?" John looked at him with intensity.

"No." Harold didn't even have to think about his answer and was unbelievably grateful for John's wording. If he had structured his question differently, if _this_ John had asked if Harold loved the old John, Harold wouldn't have any idea what to say.

Harold saw the disappointment in John's body language. If John repeatedly stated that something didn't sit right with him, Harold certainly knew the signs now. He never wanted to hurt John's feelings. But at the same time Harold reasoned with himself, that it was not _his_ John who felt the hurt.

"Do I have anyone? Family? Am I in love with someone?"

"I am not in the habit of being privy to your personal life, but to my knowledge you are not currently seeing anyone. As to your family, I'm afraid I have to inform you that you have no living relatives." Harold winced. This wasn't the kind of conversation he enjoyed having.

"Past lovers?" John asked hopefully. "Someone I'm on speaking terms with?"

"I'm sorry." Harold shook his head. He watched John's shoulders dropping slightly. Again, Harold hurt him without even meaning to. No matter how much he reasoned that this man wasn't his John, Harold still felt responsible for him. He wanted to shelter him from all the bad news.

"Anyone else I can talk to beside you, Shaw and Lionel?"

"I am not aware of anyone. Our work was very time demanding."

"So, I'm ok with helping other people and basically having no life of my own?"

Harold thought about the last few years. He wanted to point out that maybe John should be glad he even has a life to talk about. There were several instances when they were buried under the rubble that Harold thought all was truly lost and they wouldn't survive, but he simply answered: "Yes."

"And I'm staying and playing nice with a repressed sociopathic killer and burned out cop?"

Well, Harold would definitely use different wording for Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco but again he just nodded without any fuss.

John only rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Obviously done with the whole conversation. He started to rummage around in the cupboards, but Harold could still hear him muttering. "And he says I'm not in love with him. Of course, I'm risking my life for fun and giggles. Who wouldn't want to be shot at and maybe killed every day? John Reese, the good old suicidal soldier."

It went against everything Harold knew about _his_ John. That John never muttered his complaints behind Harold's back. John used every opportunity to discuss his concerns with Harold; if he considered his points better thought out than Harold's opinion, John guided him to a different solution."

Harold sat down behind his laptop and ignored this John's childish behavior. He glanced up in surprise when John left a plate of Danish in front of him.

"You need breakfast. And you have a sweet tooth." John said grudgingly.

Harold stared at him without comprehending the situation again. Was it possible John remembered?

"Another one of those things I just know," he shrugged.

Harold didn't want to feel his disappointment so deeply. The tension between them was interrupted by the entrance of Ms. Shaw.

"Anything new?" Sameen automatically came to the laptop, stole one of the sweet rolls from his plate without asking and wolfed it down. This behavioral glitch Harold decided to ignore for the sake of his own sanity. She was not a woman easily understood.

"I haven't had enough time to check yet, but I don't think there are any new developments," Harold replied stiffly. Although, he was partially grateful he wouldn't have to be alone with John any longer.

"Good!" She quickly grabbed the remaining roll. "It's time for your appointment. Megan is waiting for us."

"Today?" Harold knew Ms. Shaw was trying to be helpful, but he was under impression that he would be scheduling the appointments with Doctor Tillman himself.

Sameen only gave him a long stare that could be easily translated. She just wasn't very happy with his answer.

* * *

Several hours later Harold was back in the apartment. His appointment with Doctor Tillman went well. Harold's hand was slowly healing. Blood results were in optimum range given the circumstances and he was allowed to return home.

The whole time they were at the hospital Ms. Shaw never left his side, watchful as always. Before leaving the apartment they had collectively decided John would stay home. The younger man hadn't protested at all. Harold attributed it to John's investigation skills. He probably wanted to use the laptop again for more _research._

Ms. Shaw checked the door for unwarranted interference even though John should have been in the apartment alone. Everything looked peaceful and exactly how they had left it apart from John who nervously crossed the apartment.

"Your laptop did a- a thing," John alerted them.

Harold steadily limped to the computer expecting their new Number. It was time after all. But the digits surprised him again.

"Who is it?" Sameen demanded.

"Me." Harold replied calmly. It did make sense. By venturing to the city and exposing themselves they were now positive of the fact that they had a tail. Someone was following them. Someone knew very well where they were staying. That certain someone could easily strike at any opportunity.

Harold heard Ms. Shaw talking on the phone.

"Lionel, we have a situation."

Sameen was obviously concerned. What bothered Harold the most was the fact that if someone would attack them in any given moment he would probably never see _his_ John again. _**His**_ John, who should have been aware of their victory over Samaritan. _**His**_ John, who should have been privy to the knowledge that Harold held him in a high regard.

"Harold, you'll be fine," Ms. Shaw assured him.

"Certainly," Harold replied woodenly, his thoughts still far, far away reliving a time with the man he knew.

 _Harold went past John. The idea of him carrying a gun_ _and using it_ _was absolutely laughable. He just couldn't imagine a_ _ny_ _circumstances where he would do it_ _of_ _his own free will. Of course, he wouldn't hesitate if the action would save someone's life. He would certainly tr_ _y_ _to protect John at all cost but willingly accept John's gun? Never._

 _"I won't be around forever."_

 _John's words stopped Harold in his tracks. He turned around. They were slowly reaching the end game with Samaritan. All of them knew it. Harold didn't have time to answer, because John continued._

 _"Just need to know you can protect yourself once I'm gone."_

 _It pained him to even imagine what John tried to imply. Their situation was too precarious. Any moment now someone could be hurt or worse. Harold refused to even think about Root. There will be an appropriate time to_ _grieve_ _. He only hoped he wouldn't have to go through the process_ _for anyone else_ _. He would put his life in danger without any thought if it meant the rest of his friends would survive._

Harold needed to talk to _his_ John just once, then he would willingly accept his demise. But if there should be a choice to be made between putting his life in danger and not John's, even though it wasn't _his_ John, _Harold_ still didn't hesitate.

"We will give them what they want," Harold decided, watching them both thoughtfully. "Isn't it time for Bear to get some exercise, Ms. Shaw? I will accompany you to the park."

"Are you out of your mind?!" John bellowed.

John raising his voice, another unusual trait, but it shouldn't have surprised Harold that much. He winced in sympathy when John pressed his palm to his temple. John's own shouting was probably too loud for his concussed head. Of course, any amount of pain never stopped John for long.

"You have some martyr complex, Harold?"

"I think as an adult I have the power to make decisions about my person," Harold steadily held his gaze. "There is no reason why the others, in this case you, should be put in danger. You are currently without full knowledge of our situation and therefore too vulnerable."

"Oh, so that gives you the right to make decisions about me then?" John narrowed his eyes, visibly shaking in anger. "Just like you decided it was best for me to be locked in a vault!" He blinked for a second in confusion. "You locked me in a vault?" he repeated his own words with disbelief.

"Almost," Harold mumbled with guilt. He had certainly tried but the Machine never let it happen. He never found out how. Harold was just surprised when he was nearing the elevator where he would need to get to the roof of the building - the one that later that day crashed around them - John appeared out of nowhere in front of him.

 _"Hello, Harold." John drawled with a small smile. "I had hop_ _ed that_ _you wouldn't try to do this alone." John sighed for effect. "And_ _yet,_ _here we are."_

 _"It has to be me, John." Harold wanted to search for_ _the_ _right words, but they were quickly running out of time. "This is my past catching up with me."_

 _John watched him calmly. "Is this the time when you're going to point a gun_ _?_ _And a_ _t me? I think we already played this game once on a different rooftop but if we're going to reenact it_ _with our roles reversed,_ _we're one bomb short. I let you stay and you saved my life. Isn't that what we do, Harold?_ _Stay_ _together?"_

 _After a pause Harold's shoulders dropped_ _and_ _then_ _they_ _continued, together,_ _to the elevator. Harold_ _prayed_ _they would both survive_ _what was to come_ _and_ _that_ _Samaritan's operatives were nowhere near the building._

 _They were both watching the numbers in the elevator changing_ _as it rose quickly,_ _but Harold felt like the whole world was slowing down. John was right. They had_ _always stayed_ _together. Against all odds. They were always surviving._

 _Even if the odds of not surviving_ _were finally catching up with them and_ _these_ _were their last moments, Harold didn't regret any of it. The silence between them was too heavy. Harold didn't want to spend his last minutes keeping quiet._

 _"John? " Harold cleared his throat. He needed to thank John for many things, but their dire situation was already too difficult. "Just so you know I didn't want to go back down those stairs. It was an eight story building. My body wasn't that agile anymore." Harold muttered, but they both know he was not telling the complete truth. He would never hesitate to save John if it was in Harold's power._

 _"And here I thought we were finally getting closer, Harold. Way to go and break my heart." John replied in amusement._

 _Harold moved his neck to the side as much as his spine allowed him and smiled at John's profile. He knew John was only joking. It was not visible on his face but Harold certainly heard it in John's voice. "I didn't want you to have_ _the_ _wrong impression about me." H_ _arold_ _deadpanned._

 _The elevator door opened with a ding. John put a hand on Harold's lower back, drew his gun and they slowly entered the corridor. John_ _ushered_ _him to the side_ _of the last floor_ _where the access to the rooftop was._

 _Harold followed every clue of John's body language - stay_ _ing_ _back a bit wh_ _ile_ _John scanned their surroundings and quickly_ _moving_ _wherever John_ _was guiding him_ _when John's shoulders_ _would_ _fractionally_ _ease_ _._

 _"What happened to you being a private person?" John continued with their_

 _previous conversation when he was sure there were no threats on the rooftop._

 _Harold meanwhile opened the briefcase and activated the satellite. "I think we're done here."_

 _"Good." John took his elbow and they both quickly_ _moved to_ _the exit_ _from the roof_ _. They were both acutely aware_ _that_ _the missile_ _launched by Samaritan was_ _on its way._

 _"You think we have enough time, John?" Harold tried to sound steady and unaffected, but his voice was shaking with nerves._

 _"Don't know, but I would try to chance it anyway." John drawled sounding exactly like_ _he had in_ _all th_ _e_ _years Harold knew him - calm, soft spoken and warm._

 _"Thank you."_

 _"Shouldn't I be the one thanking you?" John smirked a bit. "You were the one who gave me this job."_

 _Harold nodded._ _John didn't need to thank him, not after all John had done for him. He needed to say that out loud._ _"You were the one-" But they were on the ground floor. Harold_ _had_ _run out of time._

"You infuriating, stubborn-"

"Reese!" Ms. Shaw hissed angrily cutting John off. For the first time Harold saw her losing her composure. "Leave him alone!" She then turned towards him. "Harold, it's not a bad idea, but I want to try something else first. We know you and John are targets, because someone saw you two out," Sameen reasoned with him. "I want to present them with Lionel. See, if he's in danger as well. It's not making a lot of sense why they would target only you and John, but not me."

Harold's brows creased thoughtfully. It was true. Ms. Shaw was always with them. The Machine must have seen something that made her believe John and he are the only targets.

"Alright. We'll do it your way," Harold conceded.

"Are you kidding me?!" John glared at them angrily, but this time didn't raise his voice.

"Troubles in paradise?" Detective Fusco entered the apartment and immediately went to Ms. Shaw's side.

Harold's thought process regarding their dilemma stopped for a moment. He really hadn't paid much attention to the relations others had in their small group. Yet, Harold knew Ms. Shaw and Root had had a complicated relationship - to put it mildly. Also that John's introduction to Detective Fusco wasn't the smoothest either. The good detective was at first the odd one out, but he slowly had warmed to all of them. Now, Harold could see that he belonged to their strange family-of-sort.

"She wants to risk your life and make a target of you," John pointed to Sameen.

"Ok," Detective Fusco reached for a chair and then sat down. "Let's hear it, Maybelline."

Ms. Shaw glared at him, but helpfully recapitulated the events of past two days. Harold was only glad he didn't have to contribute to the conversation.

"Ok, Satan's spawn. Let's do it." Lionel nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "Piece of cake. Wouldn't be the most dangerous thing I had to do with you lot."

"You are all insane." John shook his head in disbelief.

Harold mentally winced in sympathy again. It had to look absolutely crazy from John's point of view. John didn't remember all the dangerous situations they had been through the past five years. Harold didn't want to compare those past trials with the danger now and even though the enemy they were facing now simply hadn't struck yet, Harold felt much more safer. No one or nothing could be as dangerous as Samaritan and its operatives.

* * *

Harold was on edge for two more days, but the Machine didn't give them any other Numbers. Harold even tried to access the Relevant list, but the AI simply locked him out. Harold reasoned because his life was already in danger she didn't want to endanger him more.

Detective Fusco brought an entire box of donuts for the breakfast one morning. When they all gathered around the table Lionel huffed, "Ok, I will just state the obvious. Someone knows us. Someone wants you two dead," his eyes traveled from Harold to John. "And that said someone is not seeing me or Crazy Lady as a threat. What does it mean?" The detective raised his eyebrow questioningly.

"It's someone we encountered in the past," Harold deduced.

"I will give you one better." John scowled. "It's someone from the past who has connections to Shaw and Lionel."

"It's someone who has a connection to me." Sameen contributed to their speculation. "And who respects Lionel's rank to the point he wouldn't hurt him."

Harold mulled the idea over in his head. Who had a connection to Ms. Shaw? Harold could only guess her previous employer. But who in U.S. Army Intelligence Support Activity would be still alive? Most of the head positions in government organizations were replaced by Samaritan's operatives.

Harold opened his mouth to ask the question, but Sameen was faster coming to the same conclusion that he had.

"Impossible. It's not _Research_. They are all dead."

"Then it has to be someone who's been left behind," Harold mused. "Someone who slipped under the radar."

"They were all wiped out almost a year ago." Sameen told him coldly. "Hersh was the last one and he died in a courthouse."

"Are we sure about that?" Lionel asked fiercely.

Harold watched Ms. Shaw glancing at John before he said, "I wasn't in the courthouse then, Ms. Shaw. Is there a possibility he could be alive?"

Sameen shook her head. "He was on our side when the blackout happened. He died on our side, Finch. It's not him. This is not how he operated."

"Alright. Back to square one. Could it be someone from Detective Fusco's line of work?" They had to at least narrow the possibilities because it didn't make sense.

Lionel made a negative sign.

They needed a new approach. "One of our enemies then. Do we know if any of them survived?" Harold tried to remember the most persistent ones who caused the most damage. "Dominic?"

"Dead," Fusco answered.

They just didn't have enough information, so Harold went back to his first plan of action. "Ms. Shaw, I think it's time for you to get Bear."

"We're all going." John told them calmly without any inflection.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Harold replied. "I am sorry to say, but in your condition, you don't know the enemies, John."

"I can still hold a weapon and shoot," John reasoned.

"Yes. But would you recognize the enemy when you see him? We can't chance that you wouldn't. There is too much of a risk of you getting hurt and-"

Harold didn't have time to finish his sentence before John crowded into his space.

"So, that's how you played it all those years? You know _everything,_ while my opinion is not relevant enough? No wonder he didn't tell you a word about his feelings when you're such a control freak!"

Harold stood there, paralyzed by the blow he just received. He tried to focus on his beating heart or his breathing. Anything other than John's face contorted in anger. This man was not _his_ John. John would never-

Harold stopped his line of thinking. It didn't matter what _his_ John would say or not say. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me!" Harold turned around and limped to the front door. In that moment he rather preferred being shot at than arguing with _that_ John.

"Harold!" Sameen yelled after him in warning when he opened the door. But he wasn't going anywhere. Harold stopped on the spot looking at the barrel of a gun.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 05**

Harold took a cautious step back watching the woman in front of him who was wearing a wide brimmed hat secured by a hoodie. She had changed a lot since the last time they encountered her. She was no longer Control, the proud head of the ISA. Her long dark hair that was previously knotted into a tight bun was now greasy, streaked with gray and lying carelessly on her shoulders. She wasn't dressed in designer clothes either but appeared to be a homeless woman wearing several layers of clothing.

"We need to talk, Harold." Control motioned with the gun for him to move further back into the apartment.

Harold backed away. He didn't have to go far because suddenly John, Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco all moved in front of him pointing their guns at the dangerous enemy.

"Shaw," Control nodded in greeting.

"Long time no see," Sameen replied. "Wouldn't oppose it to be even longer. Or never."

"I'm not here as a threat." Control assured them.

"That gun you're holding would suggest otherwise," Detective Fusco disagreed.

A few seconds passing with nothing but the ensuing silence wasn't a good sign, but finally Harold watched Sameen and John take a step sideways so Harold could see the woman better. She lowered her gun. Maybe just as a pretend gesture of goodwill. He should be more suspicious, but she didn't strike him as dangerous even though Harold knew the woman could be lethal if needed. She wasn't lethal now, she just looked desperate and tired.

Sameen, John and even the good detective all lowered their guns. It was ridiculous pointing a gun at the woman who clearly didn't pose a threat.

"You were right," Control looked at Harold with slumped shoulders. "They tried to kill me."

Harold's back stiffened when he remembered his last conversation with her and their purpose for capturing the woman. They had needed to find the Samaritan spy in her department who had one of the encrypted phones Samaritan's agents used with them. They had used Control as a bait. "I would like to say I'm shocked but it doesn't surprise me. I did warn you if I remember correctly."

"Yes." Control nodded thoughtfully.

They all waited silently for her next words.

"Is it still in operation?" She took a step forward, but decided to proceed no further when John slid swiftly in front of Harold and also pointed a gun at her again. "Samaritan, I mean." Control clarified as she halted her movement receiving John's message loud and clear. Instead she went to the sofa and sat down.

"No." Harold stood beside John. Maybe it was the stress of the situation, but he reached out without thinking and lowered John's wrist. Harold was still all too aware of the skin he touched.

"Are you sure?" They could all hear the carefully hidden hope in Control's voice.

Harold didn't have time for this. His back straightened fractionally, consciously ignoring John's nearness. It wasn't unusual for _his_ John to be so close in dangerous situations. Harold was used to that. After almost a week since getting out of the hospital, of interacting with John without his memory, Harold was only too aware when some situation felt familiar. That was what baffled Harold the most at the moment - why having John near him now after those few days filled with tension and disconnection felt almost too right.

Harold focused his attention back to their situation, to Control; his musing about John wouldn't help them. If she wasn't a threat to them, than it meant someone out there still could be. "What is it you want?"

"To go back to my daughter," the woman whispered brokenly, "She's nine years old and she thinks her mother is dead."

Harold needed to be sympathetic. He could understand the desire to be with someone you love. He felt similar longing for Grace. From the corner of his eyes Harold could still see John never taking his eyes off the woman in front of them. John was ready to put himself in danger if necessary.

And again his traitorous brain added one sentence of John's he hated the most.

 _"You love him too."_

Harold took a deep breath. "I can assure you that you can safely do that. If you were hiding from Samaritan, _it_ no longer exists. Its operatives are mostly dead as well."

"Phillip Hayes or John Greer? Or whoever he prefers to be called these days?" She prodded.

Harold had to give her credit. She no longer was the foolish woman they had first met. Now she knew very well who the enemy was and what people to avoid. "Dead as well." He assured her flatly.

"And your computer? Your Machine? Is it able to provide us the Relevant list again?"

Harold really wanted to trust this person, but at some point in their future she could be hunting them again if her employers decided they needed to be _dealt_ with. He was sure of that. "Let me give you another warning. What I have learned from the past five years is that sooner or later your government _will_ betray you."

"Maybe. But I can stand there and be sure that the Government won't betray my country. That's what you and your computer tried to do, right? Your computer was saving our country from terrorists, domestic or international. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"And what is it you're proposing?" Harold hissed angrily. "You people replaced the Machine, released a narcissistic all-knowing artificial intelligence into the world and almost let it destroy humanity. I stayed in the shadows for five years, while your Government killed practically every associate I had or tried to keep both AIs a secret from your country's citizens. You hid the truth even when that _being_ began seeing genocide as a _Correction_ of humanity and continued keeping its existence hidden," Harold's blood pressure spiked up from his anger.

"Do you think fighting such a-" Harold couldn't find the right word and raised his voice. "-creature. Such a THING is a noble cause? He lost his partner Jocelyn," Harold pointed to Detective Fusco. "She was the mother of a nineteen year old boy."

"Your former employee," Harold watched Control who glanced at Sameen, "was shot and tortured by Samaritan's operatives. We all lost friends, colleagues and loved ones. Do you think any of us would willingly trust in a system and Government that released that - terror - upon us all? None of us will go through that again."

Harold's heart was still racing, but he tried to rein in his emotions. "I don't know if the Machine is still out there. I don't care even if that is true whether it sends anyone any _numbers_ because either way we are done helping humanity and letting ourselves get killed. Humanity doesn't deserve to have access to an artificial intelligence with such power."

Harold hoped he made a convincing performance but he still added. "You are foolish if you think you can create something sentient and think that it won't evolve on its own. The one you foolishly replaced my machine with almost destroyed the world. Don't try it again because next time your daughter could really end up as on orphan. Or you could end up without a daughter when said AI deems your child's life irrelevant."

Control stood up. "If you ever need me-"

"We won't," Harold interrupted her. "Look at us. I can barely type on a keyboard. He doesn't remember who he is." Harold indicated John. "Ms. Shaw certainly isn't suicidal to work with you again and Detective Fusco would rather be with his son who was almost murdered once. As a mother I think you can relate."

"Yes."

"How did you find us?" Ms. Shaw obviously wanted to satisfy her paranoia.

"I figured if your lot were still alive, that you personally couldn't stay out of a shooting range. So, I moved from one to another until I finally saw you - took some pictures of John and then followed you two. I thought if you both were alive that you would eventually lead me to Harold, but then he went to the hospital with you, Shaw, from here." Control shrugged. "I won't bother you again," she promised.

Harold stood frozen in the middle of the apartment. Maybe it was the adrenaline slowly leaving his system but the whole encounter left him feeling tired. And weak. And alone. Harold's chest hurt from the onslaught of grief. They had lost so many people through the years.

Harold's eyes burned because beside him stood the reminder of the person Harold missed the most - _his John_.

"You should be nominated for an Oscar, Harold," John drawled with amusement.

Harold's neck protested against the speed his head turned to John. It was suddenly there, the slight nuance of warmth that was previously missing from John's words the past week. Harold held his breath, too accustomed to having his hopes being crushed.

"Hello Harold." John raised a corner of his mouth in a smile. "Miss me?"

Harold discovered in that second that he really had a breaking point. His breathing was too loud to his own ears. His heart appeared to be trying to escape from his chest. He could almost taste his own tears. He was swept away by such a powerful wave of relief that John – _his John_ – was suddenly in front of him again, that he did the only thing he could think of – crossed the floor into his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind himself.

The two steps to his bed was the longest distance Harold ever imagined. He sat down heavily on the bedding and with shaky fingers clutched the blanket to him.

A heartfelt sob escaped his mouth and Harold pressed his lips tighter together. He didn't want the others to be privy to his breakdown. In that moment Harold felt so much thankfulness for John's memory coming back, he couldn't even put it to words. The only words Harold could think to say to John over and over again would probably be _'Please, don't leave me ever again'_.

Even the _other_ John's persistent conclusion couldn't phase him.

 _"You love him too."_

Wrong. That conclusion was wrong, the words too inadequate to describe Harold's feelings at the moment. Harold finally felt at home and safe.

John had so easily become Harold's touchstone in the past five years that Harold was unaware of how deep his regard towards the younger man went until _that_ John was no longer with him.

Harold steadily wiped the trails the hot tears left on his cheeks and went to the window. His mind needed a single focus. People milling the street below were a good distraction. He permitted himself three more soft tearful gasps, then he finally worked on putting himself under control. John was alright now. They would have to find new accommodations because the apartment had been compromised, but it could be done easily.

The Machine would alert them if they were being followed in the future. She obviously still watched out for them. Harold crossed his arms over his chest absentmindedly but changed his action very quickly when it resulted in a throbbing pain in his left hand.

Harold's heart almost stopped when he saw John and Ms. Shaw venturing into the street. It was such an irrational reaction he should chastise himself. John and Sameen had a right to go anywhere they wanted to now. There was no longer danger waiting for them behind every corner. He needed to adjust to their new reality.

Harold went to his nightstand for painkillers. He held two pills loosely in his fingers and emerged from his room to go to the kitchen.

"You just missed them," Detective Fusco informed him. "The _Mayhem_ _T_ _wins_ went for some food."

Harold swallowed the tablets with a glass of water and limped in the direction of his bedroom again. "I will lie down for a bit," he muttered to himself. His hip was acting up again. Harold attributed it to his emotional state.

* * *

Harold was aware of his surroundings. He was not dozing, just simply relaxing his eyes and giving the painkillers enough time to take the edge off. His hip felt much better and his hand currently resting on a pillow on his stomach only felt uncomfortable now. It must have been several hours that his friends were gone because the room was starting to turn gray.

After a soft double knock on the door, which was always John's way of announcing himself, John slipped his head inside the room. "Knock, knock." He whispered with a soft smile and made sure Harold was awake.

"You can come in," Harold assured him quietly very conscious of John's thoughtfulness. Harold was sure that if he was asleep John would have just went away and came back later.

John balanced a paper cup and two donuts on a platter. "Dinner." He announced kindly. "You haven't eaten all day."

Harold could bask in that voice alone. He always paid attention to John's voice. Years of listening to him through the earpiece taught Harold about John's every mood, but when he was faced with the same voice but with different inflections on words it was... unacceptable. This was the John Reese he knew and loved. Harold's heart tripped with that thought.

"Thank you, John." Harold was surprised at how much tenderness his own vocal cords were capable of. He made himself more comfortable adding a pillow behind his back, then accepted the tray John put on his knees.

The first sip of Sencha green tea with one sugar almost drove him to tears again but he swallowed with his eyes firmly fixed on the donuts. He took a healthy bite from the first one and gave John a small smile.

"Was she telling the truth?" Because where else would the ex-CIA operative go than check if Control was really going home to her daughter.

"Yes."

"Good. How are you feeling, John?" Harold finally felt like he could ask the question out loud. He polished off both sweets while John was answering his questions.

"A bit disappointed," John shrugged his shoulders carelessly and deadpanned, "Thought my head was harder than concrete."

Harold chuckled and without a word accepted the napkin John was handing him for cleaning his sticky fingers.

"How are _you_ doing?" John eyed the thick bandage on his left hand.

"It will be alright." Harold muttered with his mouth full, then quickly swallowed. His manners must have taken a vacation. When was the last time he talked with his mouth crammed with food like a child?

"What Megan told you?" John prodded.

In all those days previous, John hadn't asked again about his injuries other than on their way home from the hospital when Harold had swept his worries under the table. "I won't be able to feel or use half of my fingers again. The nerves were too damaged."

Harold hated the shocked expression on John's face.

"Harold-"

"It's alright, John," he quickly reassured him. "I can still work like this. It's just another restriction I have to work around."

"May I?" John indicated the bed.

"Of course," Harold nodded without hesitation. John sat down carefully, aware of Harold's hip that could be too easily aggravated.

"I'm sorry about your hand, Harold." John ever so gently put his palm on Harold's right hand and Harold froze. It was too much – John's gentle tone, John's cautious touch, John's concern that saturated his words.

Harold's eyes filled with tears again. He slowly changed the placement of their hands and clutched John's fingers with his. When he had been trapped under the rubble with John's unconscious body on his and blood soaked the ground around them, Harold had thought he would go mad with fear.

"It's alright, Harold," John whispered soothingly and squeezed his fingers in return. "You're alright."

"I wasn't concerned for myself, Mr. Reese," Harold said, throat tight with emotion. He met John's eyes, then averted them to the side. This was not appropriate behavior. What did he expect to happen?

John proclaiming his undying love for him? _John without his memory_ was so wrong. _The old John_ was never in love with him but the more Harold thought about that the more heart sick he felt. It was like an invisible wound under his skin.

For so long Harold had longed to be with Grace but that wound slowly scabbed over and healed when Harold accepted his faith in the Machine. He gave up on the idea of ever having another companion in his life. Harold wasn't even sure if he would have a long life in the future. And then the _other John_ planted the seeds of doubt about John's feelings.

But now when Harold had _his John_ in front of him, nothing had changed. John was still so kind, witty and understanding, only Harold started to long for something more.

Harold wasn't even aware that his body was shaking until John sat carefully closer, put a gentle hand on Harold's neck and slowly guided him into his embrace. Harold's forehead rested on John's shoulder.

"It's alright. I'm fine. I've got you." John reassured Harold quietly which only resulted in another fit of uncontrollable sobbing that left Harold mortified to the bone. He never wanted for John to see him like this.

Once his crying fit was over, Harold became slowly aware of John's fingers caressing his hairline. Harold knew the gesture should have had a calming effect on his nerves instead it made his skin tingle and feel alive.

In the position Harold was in he could easily breathe in John's scent. He could feel the warmth radiating from John's body. Harold closed his eyes for a second before he had to face the world and possibly worse – face John. He never wanted to leave their embrace.

Except Harold's neck wasn't very happy with his staying in that position so he slowly straightened his back and missed John's fingers on his skin immediately. "I'm sorry," he cleared his throat.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." John gave him a small smile.

"I know you're not a very tactile person-" Harold wanted to apologize again, but halted in his words with a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows.

John Reese wasn't a fan of displays of affection or touching other people in general, but somehow Harold was always the exception to the rule.

John had always walked close beside him, most of the time with a guiding hand on Harold's lower back or steering him by the elbow. Whenever they were in the park with Bear John helped him to his feet from the bench where they would sit, side by side, shoulders touching.

Harold excluded the dangerous situations where John was always touching him for safety reasons but they were still occasions in private when they were joking or talking that John always invaded Harold's personal space to touch his shoulder, chest or stomach.

"Harold," John interrupted his thoughts. "We both survived something that other people don't normally experience. Without my memories I added a lot of stress on you but I'm here now. Just take your time."

Harold nodded. He found himself still holding John's hand, the action was absolutely ridiculous. Quickly letting go and needing something to occupy his hand, Harold grabbed the paper cup with his tea and took a sip.

"Get some rest." John squeezed his shoulder and left his room.

* * *

Harold logically knew he had been dreaming because they were no longer under the rubble of a collapsed building. He knew John was safe now in the apartment but still, he called for John in a distressed voice.

 _"John?"_

 _The_ _all-consuming darkness around him was making him nervous. John's body on his scared him the most. What if in this dream John was really dead._

 _"John?!" Harold's heart was_ _racing_ _again. He couldn't hear anything else over his loud breathing. John was dying on him! "John!" he sobbed in panic._

"I'm right here." Harold could have bet that John had to be close by.

 _"I'm right here." The younger man softly drawled above Harold's face and pressed his forehead to Harold's probably to assure him_ _that_ _they were both unharmed._

 _Harold let go of the hem of John's jacket and caught the lapel on his chest instead to_ _hold_ _him closer._

 _"We're fine, Harold. We have to wait for the others to find us." John whispered calmly._

 _Harold didn't know how was it possible for John to_ _sound_ _so collected. They were trapped. They could be without oxygen soon. They could both die. They could-_

 _"Shhh," John maneuvered with difficulty in_ _the_ _small space around them and then put a warm hand on Harold's neck where the scars were visible under normal circumstances. John could probably_ _find_ _them by touch only. "Don't worry. It will be alright, Harold."_

"John," in reality Harold moved uncomfortably on the bed.

 _Harold sobbed and for two seconds he wanted to forget they were in that concrete coffin again. This was a dream. He was allowed to have everything he wanted in a dream. Wasn't_ _that_ _right? I_ _n reality Harold_ _wouldn't dare but in that moment he le_ _t_ _his imagination_ _have_ _free rein._

 _Harold raised up_ _a_ _few inches from the ground and_ _with shaking_ _lips softly kissed the man who signified home and safety for him. He couldn't stand the strain on his neck and fell back down. Harold's eyes must have been used to darkness by that time because he could_ _see_ _John's features above him. Not very clearly but Harold had seen John_ _experimentally licking_ _his own lips like he_ _was trying_ _to chase Harold's taste_ _with his tongue._

 _"We do have hours to kill," John said sardonically then proceeded to slide his fingers under Harold's head and_ _pressed his lips to_ _Harold's_ _this time_ _._

 _This time Harold sobbed for_ _an_ _entirely different reaso_ _n b_ _ecause he never anticipated this outcome. He had no idea he would crave_ _having_ _another person so close. Truthfully, Harold couldn't focus on anything other than his own racing heartbeat. The air surrounding them felt too hot for Harold's liking. And he couldn't imagine his life without having the opportunity to kiss John at every occasion._

Harold opened his eyes with a start. His bandaged hand situated on the pillow hurt again because somehow he ended up clutching the fabric with his two uninjured fingers. The pain was accompanied with a flush of his entire body. He couldn't even remember the last time he was this aroused or thirsty. His mouth felt parched almost like the Sahara desert.

Harold maneuvered his battered body on his feet and slowly crossed the darkened apartment to the kitchen without bothering to switch the lights on. The cold air from inside the fridge felt like a balm combined with his first sip of bottled water.

Harold closed the fridge door and rested his forehead on its surface. He had no idea how he would be able to look John in the eyes tomorrow. He had no idea how he would be able to hide his feelings from the ever-observant ex-CIA operative. He had no idea how he would be able to live with the desire to taste John's lips in reality.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 06**

Harold didn't return to bed even though it was only three in the morning. He switched the lights on eventually, wrapped his bandaged hand in a small plastic bag and went through his morning routine and shower.

Later, when John left his room around seven AM on the way to the bathroom Harold quickly averted his eyes back to his computer trying to ignore the image of a disheveled John Reese clothed in an old white t-shirt and gray sleep shorts.

John joined him carrying a cup of coffee in one hand, still yawning widely and not bothering with dressing himself in his street clothes beforehand. "How long have you been awake?"

"Several hours," Harold replied stiffly. "I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, about that-"

John's words were interrupted as he stifled another yawn which Harold shouldn't have found endearing at all. He had his work cut out for himself. He had no time to think about John's qualities, adorable or not. "Maybe we should continue our conversation after you're dressed and ready to work?" Harold suggested with his eyes firmly glued to the screen.

"Just because it's so important to you, Finch," John replied cheekily and then left. Of course he was back ten minutes later, alert and this time clad in his trademark black suit.

"What have we got?"

"A new Number but she's hardly our perpetrator," Harold turned the laptop John's way. "Allow me to introduce you to Claire Watkins, age six." The blond angel on the screen with mischievous blue eyes and toothless grin smiled at them.

"I wouldn't be so sure, she looks dangerous to me," John deadpanned. "Maybe she's stealing candy in a preschool."

Harold moved the computer back towards himself fighting a smile. "I'm currently looking into her parents' financials but there appears to be a small problem. There is no information on mother and daughter ever existing prior to three months ago."

"Don't bother with them, Harold. Try the husband. I bet she's running away from him. Send his photo to my phone. Do you have their address?" John leaned closer to Harold's shoulder.

"Yes," Harold pointed to the slip of paper on the table. "And her preschool address as well."

"He somehow found her," John squeezed Harold's shoulder. "Take it easy and don't overextend your hand. "

Harold ignored John's advice and instead worked on the information John needed. It wasn't the only thing Harold had to ignore. The insistent and overwhelming feeling of fear that he should never let John out of his sight almost paralyzed him.

They had went through this routine so many times in the past that Harold couldn't understand what is it that bothered him now. If John was right about Claire's father they would wrap up the Number fairly quickly. John would have a talk with said father about never bothering his family again and it would be done. If John needed to work on something Harold was thankful their first Number wasn't anything too strenuous for either of them.

"Be careful, John," Harold said after him.

"Always, Finch."

Harold heard the click of the lock after John's retreat. He instantly hacked into a different site and watched John's progress on screen. Thankfully, nothing appeared to pose a threat to John's life.

Harold found out the estranged father had quit his job at a factory in his hometown in Pennsylvania probably to follow his wife to New York. Almost everything appeared to be as John predicted.

John stayed in position on a building where he had a good view of the premises of the preschool that the little girl attended. Harold didn't feel right without their earpieces. They were another thing that he needed to obtain for them. He needed a better way of communicating with John other than by mobile phone which was highly impractical.

Harold was on his way to the kitchen to prepare tea for himself when he heard the distinctive alert from the Machine. He changed his course and looked at the coordinates. A cursory sweep of the place via the internet didn't show anything amiss. Harold dialed John's number.

 _"Miss me already, Harold?"_ John drawled with amusement.

"Words can't even describe my solitude, Mr. Reese," Harold replied sardonically with a smile, but changed the subject in the next second. "Is this a bad time?"

 _"I could use some distraction."_

"It appears that I have been given an errand by the Machine. It was able to send me certain coordinates. I just wanted to inform you I won't be near my computer if there is a need for further information."

 _"Don't go anywhere alone. Wait for me or Shaw. She's supposed to be on her way to you."_

"I'm afraid there is a reason why the Machine sent me those coordinates now. I should be on my way for whatever reason that is."

 _"Harold, how many times do we have to talk about_ _this_ _?"_

"I will be alright, John. I'll check in with you every hour," Harold promised earnestly.

 _"Half an hour,"_ John corrected his words. _"First sign of trouble and you're gone. Promise me."_

"Certainly," Harold nodded, ended the call and went for his coat.

* * *

Half an hour later Harold knocked on the door of a familiar house in the suburbs. He smiled into Detective Fusco's face. "I'm here for my friend," Harold informed him and then braced himself when the barking beast made a beeline for him from inside the house. Harold grinned and patted Bear's back.

"Hello boy." Harold carefully raised his injured hand behind his back to avoid any accident.

"So, where are you taking him?" Fusco inquired.

"On an errand. It's better to have someone with me when John is otherwise occupied." Harold continued to pat Bear.

"Care for company?" Fusco shrugged his shoulder. "Don't have anything better to do than twiddle my thumbs anyway."

Harold's heart twisted in gratitude. "Thank you, Detective. It would be appreciated."

"Don't mention it." Lionel went back inside for his jacket and was back by Harold's side in a second. "Lead the way."

"Come on, Bear. Let's go," Harold patted his thigh and they were on their way.

After a few minutes of silence the detective cleared his throat. "So, where are we going?"

"I have no idea. The directions came from the Machine. I'm hoping the situation will explain itself once we get there. Are you armed, Detective?" Just to be on the safe side, Harold had to ask the question.

"What kind of question is that? Of course I am. If I knew that I would need my gun we should have invited _Captain America_ with us."

"John is working on our new Number." Harold clarified for him. "We hope it will be one of the easy ones."

"Ok. What about our _Deranged Wonder Woman_?" Fusco huffed.

"I'm not privy to Ms. Shaw's whereabouts. Contrary to popular belief I'm not really monitoring everyone's movements, Detective." Harold tilted his neck to better see into Lionel's face. "That's what the Machine is capable of. It's just alerting me if something is not right or if it detects a threat to any of us."

"Alright. If I understand correctly it means you would have been on this mysterious quest alone and you are not exactly _Indiana Jones_ so to speak. So, we shouldn't be in danger." Fusco deduced.

"Precisely."

The detective smirked. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Harold looked around in amazement at the old abandoned station they were standing in. There was no subway car this time, but the place was large enough to hold all of their equipment and contain living quarters for them as well. He limped around the place using his cell phone's flashlight function searching for circuit breakers and fuses.

Somewhere behind him Harold could hear Detective Fusco grumbling: "It's another freaking subway station. Where is that Machine of yours finding these places? Is there some _Abandoned-Creepy-_ _Hideout-_ _Craigslist_ the police don't know about or what?"

Harold finally located the electrical box and turned back around before lowering the lever. The whole place lit up.

"For God's sake, Glasses, warn a guy next time!" Fusco squinted at him.

"Detective, would you be so kind as to go back up to street level and give John a call? I should have been in touch with him five minutes ago and there is no reception down here yet." Another one of the things Harold had to somehow change. He had a lot of work in front of him.

"Sure, I've always wanted to be a messenger," Fusco mumbled sarcastically but left none less.

Harold slowly walked around the abandoned station taking notice of the enormity of their new space. They could live there permanently. _He._ Not _they_. Maybe they. Harold could live there permanently with Bear. Not with John.

Harold must have been lost in his musings longer than he thought, because suddenly the good detective was back, an annoyed expression on his face. "Our _Wonder Boy_ wasn't very happy. I have to go. He wants me to arrest some guy."

"Everything all right with John?" Harold turned to him.

"Yeah. He's got everything under control. Just wants to scare some guy."

"Probably the father," Harold concluded. "Please, Detective, tell him I will be in touch once I'm back in the apartment."

"I think he gathered that much already. See ya'," Fusco waved his goodbye.

Harold looked at Bear after the dog had thoroughly examined every corner of the place. "So, how do you like it here?"

The clever canine only inclined his head.

"I thought so," Harold heaved a sigh. "Let's go, Bear. Time to furnish our new home."

* * *

Harold was in pain. He had anticipated this outcome when he made repeated trips to different shops trying to at least have a habitable place to come back to. He bought the most important groceries, Bear's new bed and toys, a plastic table and chair before finally visiting the electronics store. The result of his labors was a good working space with a new printer.

Harold unlocked the door of the apartment feeling completely drained and bone tired. He contemplated making tea for himself but instead went into his bedroom for his painkillers. After dry swallowing the pills Harold finally sat down on the sofa and stared at his phone. He needed to call John.

Harold rested his head comfortably against the couch's back and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure if he had dozed off or not, but suddenly Bear's nails scratched the wooden floor and the dog started to bark. For a moment Harold felt content. It meant John was on his way home.

His eyes opened immediately. Not because his thoughts had slipped into dangerous territory where he and John were together, but because Bear wasn't _greeting_ anyone.

"Bear!" Harold heaved himself up and came to the alerted canine. When he stood closer he could hear someone trying to open the lock to the apartment door. This time Harold didn't hesitate and dialed John's number.

 _"Harold?"_

"Someone is trying to break into the apartment. Bear is agitated." Harold quickly explained the situation.

 _"Harold,"_ John sounded calm. _"Stay out_ _from in front_ _of the windows. I want you to go_ _in_ _to my bedroom and take the gun from the nightstand."_

"John-" Harold wanted to object, but John never let him finish the sentence.

 _"Harold, do as I say, please. Go to the bedroom_ _and get_ _my gun. It's already loaded. Just point in front of you and pull the trigger if it's not me or Shaw. I'm already on my way."_

Harold suppressed finishing his moan of protest and did as he was told. He left his phone on John's nightstand and pulled the gun out of its drawer. The whole apartment was still echoing with Bear's mad barking. Harold's hand shook with nerves. He sincerely hoped he would not hurt anybody too badly.

Time stood still. At the least Harold thought he was suspended in an endless loop. The muscles in his arm protested from holding up the weight of John's gun. Harold focused only on the door. He was so frozen with shock and fear that he wasn't capable of any movement, even when he realized it was actually John he saw entering the apartment and was now standing in front him.

"It's all right," John calmly reassured Harold.

Harold blinked when hot fingers lowered his hand and carefully extracted the gun from it. "You're here early." He whispered shakily.

"I was already on my way," John replied softly. "I need you to go with Lionel now."

Harold glanced over at Ms. Shaw who was holding Bear by the collar. The dog still hadn't settled down which meant the threat was still somewhere in the building. Under no circumstances was Harold allowing the two ex-CIA operatives to head into danger alone. "I can go with you."

"Harold, you've done enough. Go with Lionel and stay in his house." John didn't have to raise his voice to stress his point. Harold was floored by the intensity in his eyes. Their eye contact broke when John started to follow Ms. Shaw and Bear. Harold caught his wrist without thinking.

"John, I can-" Harold held his breath when John closed the distance between them invading his personal space. Harold was used to that but this time John's intent was different. John's face didn't deadpan at Harold's words with him leaving the next second.

No. His expression now was gravely serious and… yet… hopeful. John consciously stood close to Harold, looked into his eyes and stayed silent a long time as he tried to search for something in Harold's gaze.

"John?" Harold whispered nervously.

"I need to talk to you but to do that you first have to be somewhere safe. I promise we'll come back. Just stay with Lionel and get rid of the laptop before you get to his house."

Harold nodded. If someone had just tried to get into their apartment knowing Harold was in there – alone – it could mean that certain someone might have been in there already while they all were away and bugged the computer.

"Be careful," Harold needed to repeat his previous words.

John smirked. "Always, Finch."

* * *

Harold nervously paced the floor of the guest bedroom that Lionel willingly lent him. John and Ms. Shaw hadn't made contact with them yet. Nearly three hours had passed since they left, darkness had fallen and they had no idea if their friends were still alive or not.

Harold made sure the laptop was destroyed earlier that afternoon. He had instructed Detective Fusco to drive the car repeatedly over it. No one would ever gather anything from what was left of it, even if they found the smashed insides at the bottom of the river.

Once they arrived at Fusco's house and went inside, Harold had tried to sit down and relax but he couldn't stay still. Not without knowing John and Ms. Shaw's status. He didn't want to agitate Lee, so he went upstairs into the bedroom.

When he heard the doorbell ring through the house, Harold limped heavily back down the hallway and the stairs to the first floor. He reached the bottom landing just in time to see the detective invite his quests in. Thankfully, both John and Ms. Shaw looked unharmed. Even Bear happily trotted over to him for a pat on his head. Harold obliged but his attention was focused on John. "Who was it?"

The question was directed at John but Ms Shaw glared angrily and snarled,

"Let's just say Control fulfilled her word. _She_ wasn't bothering us, but the same couldn't be said about her agents."

"It won't happen again!" John continued relaying the account of what had happened, "We went to her for a little chat. This time to extract a promise that her agents _also_ _wouldn't_ bother us again." John frowned and sneered, "You know those Government types. Always sticking to their word."

"Unfortunately, I do. " Harold huffed in annoyance.

"We'll have to abandon the apartment permanently," John decided knowing Control, her agents, or others like them could never be trusted. He then looked at Harold thoughtfully and asked, "You said the station is big enough to live there?"

Harold nodded. "After some more trips to the appropriate stores to finish furnishing the place."

"We'll do that tomorrow. Lionel?" John didn't even voice his question. The detective already had an idea of what John wanted to know.

"Sure," Fusco grumbled. "The more the merrier. I'm already boarding the dog. Housing the mastermind is a piece of cake. So why don't we add the _Evil Witch_ with daggers instead of eyes. And of course it wouldn't be the same without you, _Tall, Dark and Mind-full._ " The detective smirked at both former CIA operatives. "Just so you know you two are sleeping on the floor. Have fun."

John shrugged nonchalantly before moving to where Harold stood and took him by the elbow. Harold didn't register it until they were in the middle of the staircase that John was steadily leading him up the steps again. Between the intense relief from knowing John was alive and now feeling the warmth and gentle grip of _his_ John's hand on his arm Harold had been too distracted to ask before suddenly remembering, "What about our Number?"

John didn't even pause their ascent to answer. "It wasn't pretty. Don't ask Lionel for clarification."

Harold only raised an eyebrow in question and waited for the whole story.

"It was the husband. He wanted to kidnap the girl. I tried to have a _cha_ t with him, but our conversation didn't help that much. Lionel played the hero of the day."

Harold could vaguely imagine what had happened and John's next words confirmed his suspicion.

"Can you believe it? That troubled man tried to hit a decorated detective who was on sick leave. The father is going to be in jail for a long while, _unfortunately_."

Harold chuckled at that and let John continue leading him up the steps until Harold found himself once again in his bedroom. He watched as John put Harold's cellphone on the nightstand.

"You left it in my room when you went in there for my gun." John explained.

"Thank you, John." Harold reached out to put his hand on John's shoulder, pausing a few seconds before saying, "For everything."

John nodded and looked around, seemingly at a loss for what to say or do. It was very out of character from John's ever present confidence and calm facade. "You had something on your mind earlier?" Harold helpfully suggested the subject. He didn't understand why would John hesitate again. John had wanted him somewhere safe. And now they both were in Detective Fusco's house.

"I don't sleep much." John started softly.

That was _one_ of the things Harold discovered thanks to John's amnesia. "I am aware."

John's eyes never left Harold's as he slowly came closer. "Now I spend most nights in your room."

"I am aware of that as well, John." Was John nervous because Harold talked about that with _the other John_? Did John think maybe Harold would have offending words to say to him about his behavior? Harold should have been able to contemplate the real reason for John's hesitation, only he couldn't as he was more focused on the way his body was reacting to John's closeness, again.

John without his memory made Harold feel agitated and on edge, because he had no idea what to expect from that man. Now, it was like the tension in the muscles of Harold's back was slowly lessening just because _his_ John was near him. As if subconsciously his body knew that _his_ John would always protect him.

John's presence was calming and yet at the same time Harold felt a healthy dose of excitement. His skin was slightly warmer. His heart beat faster.

"I was there last night when you had a nightmare." John added.

Harold gave John a sad smile. He had high hopes they wouldn't talk about Harold's PTSD again. It was just too much to have considered their conversation on that matter was finished once and for all. "John-"

"I was there later as well." John didn't let Harold finish his sentence and the whole conversation suddenly had a different effect on Harold. "When you _didn't_ have a nightmare."

Denying his feelings for John was out of question. Harold still adhered to the vow he had given John when they met. He wouldn't lie to John. Certainly not for personal reasons. Apologizing would probably be the best way to start explaining.

Harold opened his mouth to speak only he couldn't say a word when John closed the remaining distance between them.

"I need you to work with me here, Harold," John drawled, "I could have read the situation wrong." John turned his head slightly and under his breath, so softly that Harold almost didn't hear it, John said it to himself. "I hope that I haven't."

Harold watched then as John nervously swallowed. He wanted to help ease John's fears at least a fraction and whispered. "You didn't." He didn't have enough words to further explain himself to John, or any words per se in his vocabulary in that particular moment.

Harold caught his breath when John's lips softly grazed his and his eyes slid shut. He could feel the feather light touch of John's fingertips on his jaw.

"Alright?" John asked quietly.

Harold nodded that he was with his eyes still closed and wet his parched lips. Only the next time John kissed him Harold had to smother a sob that threatened to escape him. He wound his arms around John's waist and hoped his legs would hold him up, because in that second Harold wasn't very steady on them.

Harold tried to steady his breathing when John pulled him flush to his body.

"Third time's a charm, hm?" John said hoarsely. John's fingers carded through Harold's hair at the nape of his neck and he opened his mouth a bit as he kissed Harold again. John's mouth – his lips, his tongue, his teeth – had tasted differently in Harold's dream. The reality was much more vivid and all-consuming.

Harold couldn't stifle his sob this time. The sentence catapulted him back into the time he had sat beside John's bed and waited for him to wake up. Harold gave into the pleasure, his moans almost drowned out the mock irritated words of Detective Fusco.

"For God's sake, you two couldn't have waited one more day to do that in your creepy _bat cave_? Of course not! Now I want to be the one without a memory!"

Harold's back stiffened and he wanted to shrink into the floor. He was sure John would be embarrassed just as much as Harold was but he wasn't. John didn't even jump in fright at the bang of the door closing swiftly. When they were alone again he just held Harold even closer with a secure palm on his lower back and practically made love to Harold's mouth without interruption. Harold's tenseness lessened a bit.

They were finally in a safe environment. They had defeated their enemies. There was no reason to be nervous and certainly no reason to feel embarrassed.

John leaned back. Harold blinked his eyes open and couldn't tear them away from John's lips. They were now kiss swollen and red, yet definitely still kissable.

" _He_ told you the truth." John cleared his throat, his voice rasping. "The me without my memories," he clarified. "He figured it out and told you the truth. I do..." John added after a slight hesitation, "love you," but his eyes were so sad like he expected Harold

to still reject him. John was being brave enough to address his feelings, so it was only fair that Harold do the same.

"John, you should know that disinterested people often see the truth better than those involved in the matter. What was his conclusion of my feelings for you?" Harold asked the rhetorical question. "He recognized that no matter how much I tried to deny it that I love you too. He wasn't mistaken at all, John." He whispered softly.

"So," John started slowly with a smirk. "We have a place to stay, and I don't mean with Lionel," he added quickly.

"Yes." They were both going to stay in a train station.

"We have our jobs back," John continued with raised eyebrow.

"Most definitely." Harold nodded. The Machine would supply them with the Irrelevant list again.

"One would say we successfully beat Samaritan." John said with a pleased and proud finality to his tone. John smiled fully at last, his eyes kind and full of mischief. "Do you think we can afford a vacation?" he playfully inquired.

Harold chuckled. He leaned his forehead against John's shoulder and agreed. "Anything you want, John," Harold consciously used the word that could hold so much meaning. "Anything at all. _Always._ " He looked firmly into John's eyes that lost their spark the next second.

"As long as we stay together," John caressed his cheek with a solemn expression. "Anywhere is fine by me."

Harold nodded. This time he rose onto his tiptoes and was the one who initiated the kiss. He managed to whisper: "Just don't leave me," before their lips met again.

"Never!" John panted against Harold's mouth. "I'll be with you _always_."

 **THE END**


End file.
